Magical Royalty
by ring of rubies
Summary: AU. Draco Malfoy has been called the Prince of Slytherin but no one realised how fitting that title was. Love, hate, social upheaval, a royal wedding - Hermione hadn't signed up for any of that. What of their past history? And how is Narcissa involved?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and characters are owned by JKR and the usual band of suspects. Penny Jordan owns the plot and some of the text, from her book _The Blackmail Marriage_. Any deviations are my own.

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_Narcissa Malfoy stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, tapping the toe of her shoes impatiently against the uneven cobblestones as she scanned the crowd of shoppers and Ministry employees on extended lunch-break. Hermione was not aware of it but Narcissa had been looking for her all morning – and Narcissa did not like to be kept waiting. Finally, she caught a glimpse of the shock of ridiculous bushy hair she had been looking for turning down one of the seldom-used lanes just off the main thorough-fare of wizarding London. All the better for her purposes._

"_Ah, it's the Mudblood. I've been looking for you." Hermione turned quickly to face the older woman, brandishing her wand. Narcissa narrowed her icy gaze. "Now, now, there's no need for that. You Muggles really have no manners."_

_Hermione kept her wand trained on Narcissa, watching her intently, saying nothing._

"_I had hoped we could ignore your lack of social graces and converse like civilised folk. Obviously I set my hopes too high."_

_Hermione did not move a muscle, but her eyes darted around the narrow lane. "What do you want?"_

_Narcissa raised an eyebrow, "Simply for you to realise that you could never amount to more than a fleeting amusement to my son."_

_Hermione raised an eyebrow in question, otherwise standing motionless. She was well aware, of course, of Narcissa's antagonism to the relationship growing between Draco and herself._

_Narcissa gave a contemptuous shrug. "How could you have thought otherwise? My son is a prince, of pure blood and grand destiny!" She smiling coldly, "Of course he is also a man – and you are a very pretty girl – once you get past that unfortunate layer of Muggle-filth." Hermione's face burned in equal parts with humiliation and anger. "Yes, a very pretty girl, and so… obviously available." Another elegant shrug of her thin shoulders accompanied these words._

"_It was inevitable that he would pursue you. You planned his seduction expertly. But he will never marry you – you were merely a _cheap_ thrill. If the very idea were not so distasteful it would be laughable. You are nothing. Nobody. You are a foolish and immoral young woman with a history of throwing herself at famous men for what you can get out of him, and the entire wizarding world knows this! When Draco marries it will be to a woman of appropriate background and status. Not a Mudblood whore."_

_Hermione chocked back a gasp. There was something about that word that cut right to the core of her, even now._

"_However, that is not the point. I have sought you out today on Draco's instructions. He does not wish to have any further contact with you."_

"_No! I don't believe you. Draco said–"_

_One thin eyebrow arched haughtily._

"_And what did he say? Was this before or after he took you to bed? You are not so naïve, Mudblood. You know how men work."_

_Hermione was silent. Narcissa's words had planted a niggling seed of doubt. Draco had not made any declarations of love, nor given her any promises. She accepted that. That hadn't stopped her from reading more into it than what he had obviously felt. She had just never imagined that _this_ would happen. Last night he had informed her he was going away on business and she had not seen it for the excuse it was. When he insisted that she return to her own house instead of falling asleep next to him, Hermione had believed that it was an effort to prevent gossip. It appeared that this was not the case. Quite simply, she was not needed any more. She had fulfilled her function and was thoughtlessly discarded, like yesterday's news. The cheap romantic dreams she had not even been aware she was harbouring until this point were now proven false by the hard reality of Draco's mother's announcement._

_Narcissa smiled thinly as she watched Hermione's thoughts processing across her face._

_Hermione admitted that up until this winter her feelings towards Draco had been mostly inimical. Six years of loathing at Hogwarts, and then the year hunting for Horcruxes when she had much bigger things on her mind than school-yard rivalries. It was only later, out of Hogwarts, that things had changed – or at least she thought they had…_

"_Draco has lost interest now that he has satisfied his curiousity. You couldn't have been good for much…" Narcissa's small, malicious smile widened. "Draco knows where his duty lies. You were merely a distraction that he wishes to forget. Surely you must realise this yourself? People always did make such a fuss about your intelligence. I understand you're starting your Mage in Economics? Perhaps you should apply that fantastic mind of yours to your studies, rather than plotting to steal the attention of my son."_

_Hermione tried to speak, to tell Narcissa politely, but firmly, to fuck off but she simply continued talking as if Hermione had never opened her mouth._

"_I almost forgot, Draco asked me to give you this," holding an envelope out to Hermione, she frowned slightly, shaking her head. "He understands that study is expensive. Surely you, both as a student of the marketplace and a whore with Galleon signs in her eyes, will recognise the value of his offer?"_

_Hermione stared disbelievingly at her tormentor with heat rising in her cheeks. Opening the envelope, Narcissa took out a cheque made out to by Gringott's for a sizeable amount of Galleons._

"_Draco wished that I convey to you that he didn't want you to think he was unappreciative of your… talents."_

_At that moment, the thin control Hermione had on her temper broke. Flicking her wand at the cheque she muttered a quick incendio and watched as Narcissa's studied calm broke as the paper in her hand quickly combusted into flame._

"_Tell Draco to keep his money! I don't want it – or him! I made a huge mistake. I thought that the snake had something genuine left. Tell him he just lost his chance of ever regaining his humanity – if he ever had it that is... I want nothing to do with your insane, intolerant, bigoted, inbred, Death-Eating family ever again!"_

"_How dare you?" Hermione's outburst had shattered Narcissa's cool detachment, yet she continued to speak in a low ominous tones despite her wrath, "My son is wizarding royalty; he can trace his line right back to the days of Merlin on both sides of the family. And even you, bleeding heart elf-lover, must admit that he has finished his childish infatuation with the Dark Arts."_

_Much as she disliked Narcissa, Hermione had to admit that Draco had reformed. He had recently taken to providing his backing to causes that Hermione deemed to be just and a benefit to all of magic-kind. But at that moment she was in no mood to acknowledge any good in Draco. In fact, right now she felt that she hated him even more than she did his beautiful manipulative mother._

_Partly incapacitated by tears and partly too angry for words, Hermione turned sharply on her heel and disapparated. She wanted to get as far away from Narcissa, from Draco, from anything Malfoy related, from anything even remotely blonde or arrogant as she could._

_Watching the space where Hermione had been only moments before, Narcissa wiped the ash residue from her fingers with a clean handkerchief, before running her hands over the front of her long white robes._

_She smirked, "Mudblood bitch."_


	2. For the entree, Revenge

"Oh, you two look fantastic together. I won't say 'be happy' or anything so trite because I'm sure you will be. I'm just so excited for you both!"

Hermione hugged her newly married best friend.

"Hermione, Pansy has a request," Ron asked somewhat urgently.

Well, this would explain why they had asked her to stay after the rest of the wedding party had left. Hermione had thought it was just recognition of her close relationship with Ron. She had assumed Harry would have stayed as well had he not been worried about his heavily pregnant wife over-exerting herself with the wedding celebrations. Hermione looked to the dark-haired woman enquiringly. _Surely she wasn't jealous?_ Anyone could see the love in Ron's dynamic blue eyes when he looked at his wife was remarkably different to the comfortable affection they held when he looked at Hermione.

"Please, Hermione, I know we perhaps haven't been friendly long enough for me to start requesting favours–"

Hermione made to shush Pansy and reassure her that she would do anything for the wife of her best friend.

"No, no. This is really asking a lot of you; I want you to go to Cythera and tell them about my and Ron's marriage."

"You want them to know?" Hermione questioned a little warily.

She had been completely taken by surprise by Ron's announcement only a few days ago that he and Pansy were to marry. After all, there had certainly never been any love lost between Ron and any Slytherin during their time at Hogwarts. And hadn't it been assumed that Pansy was going to marry Draco?

While there had been no official announcement of an engagement or imminent wedding, everyone expected Pansy and Draco to marry – Pansy herself had admitted that 'everyone' had included Draco himself. However, she had other ideas herself. Draco's and Pansy's parents might have arranged their offspring's betrothal amongst themselves, but Pansy insisted that she had absolutely no intention of being driven into a cynical marriage of politics and convenience after she and Ron had fallen so quickly and deeply in love, when Hermione had questioned her over the issue.

"Of course I want them to know. I have nothing to hide!" Pansy answered, tossing her hair proudly.

Looking at their elated faces, Hermione acknowledged that she envied Ron and Pansy their confidence. And their shared love. It was quite plain that they were totally besotted by one another, regardless of how implausible anyone who had seen them at Hogwarts would have thought the current situation. While she was genuinely happy for Ron, she couldn't help but think of what could have been. Especially now, with Harry and Ginny also married. She was the only single one of the trio left.

Despite their best efforts and the expectations of their friends and family, she and Ron just hadn't worked out. It was a mutual decision that they were just too different, and while these differences worked to form a close friendship, it was an entirely different story romantically speaking. Still there was just the tiniest bit of residual hurt at seeing the pride beaming off his face as he looked at Pansy. Ron was a man now, Hermione remembered, and not the lanky, irresponsible yet charming boy she had grown up with. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the tiny principality of Cythera, but Ron was looking at her beseechingly, and – as always – she couldn't bear to let him down.

"It's all right, I know that you and Draco don't get along," here Pansy rolled her eyes at Ron as he pulled a sour face, "but you needn't worry. He's currently away in Switzerland on business. It's just that when he gets back he will be expecting me to be there, and I feel I owe him an explanation."

Hermione was slightly stung at Pansy's inference that she couldn't stand up to Draco, and told her fiercely, "Pansy, you don't owe that… 'man' anything. Nothing at all. If he had his way–"

Pansy stopped her, smiling slightly. She tilted her chin proudly, which unfortunately made her pug nose look even shorter than it actually was.

"I want everyone to see how much I love Ron and how happy I am to be his wife – particularly Narcissa. But Draco must be informed. I know you two don't like him," Pansy looked between the two, who wore matching grimaces, "and with good reason, but Draco has never done me any harm."

Hermione's heart melted as she looked across at Ron and was reminded again of the almost maternal sense of responsibility and great deal of sisterly love she felt for him. It was no wonder that they hadn't worked out romantically between them! Nonetheless, Hermione was delighted to see him looking so content (the look on his face eclipsing even the look he had after the sorting feasts at Hogwarts). His love for Pansy, regardless of the sudden nature of its realisation, had given him a maturity that he had previously lacked.

Hermione had had her concerns about Ron recently. Well, perhaps it was more accurate to say that her concern had been heightened; specifically where his work was concerned. Indeed, if she were to be honest...

But she was not going to dwell on the past, or even tell him off for not confiding in her about his relationship with Pansy. She was far too happy for him to do that, he had his future to think about now.

Happiness for Ron and Pansy not-withstanding, mention of Narcissa has awoken some very unpleasant memories for Hermione… Oh, yes! Narcissa! Hermione's brown eyes suddenly took on a certain steeliness not usually associated with their usually warm colour.

"Hermione, There's no one else I can ask to do this for me." Pansy stated logically. "No one else I could trust… My friends would only plot with Narcissa to break this up. They first need some time to accept the idea of my being a Weasley now. Ron's brothers are either busy with their own families or lack the maturity and understanding. Ginny's pregnant. Harry would simply storm in, shout loudly and hex everyone in the place if they moved even an inch," Her eyes gleamed knowingly, "And there's certainly no one else who understands just how things are with Draco. If you would just go there for me and inform Narcissa… so that she can tell Draco."

The very mention of Narcissa was enough to raise some really quite twisted and tempting thoughts in Hermione's mind. She wasn't a naïve nineteen year old any more, she reminded herself. She was now a mature, confident and successful woman; a well respected economist, working free-lance as a financial journalist for _Sickles and Knuts_. Furthermore, she had an extra eight years of reading and researching hexes and curses in her leisure time behind her now.

A plan to embarrass Narcissa as much as she had humiliated Hermione already forming in her mind, she made a token effort to refuse, but Pansy remained stubbornly insistent that Draco, _His Serene Highness_, ruler of the principality of Cythera, had to be told that his prospective bride had instead chosen to marry the man who had been their childhood nemesis. And delivering this news by owl would quite apparently _not_ be sufficient.

Hermione ruefully admitted that there was a large part of her that could not help feeling a certain degree of triumph in being chosen to carry the news to Narcissa that the chosen wife for her son was not going to meekly accept Narcissa's plans for her. It all just seemed to fall into place…

"Please, Hermione." Ron asked her, his blue eyes pleading.

…And for Hermione it was decided. Just like that.

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A/N: _Hopefully as this progresses the chapters will get longer, but I'm updating now to say thanks to my first- and for the moment favourite _;) _reviewer __**Eva1983**__ Wow. You have inspired me!_

_Also, for those who are interested,_ Cythera _(Kithira) actually exists. It's a small island of the coast of Greece. Fictional Cythera bears no resemblanceto actual Kithira (that is to say in reality it's not actually an all-wizarding principality ruled by the Malfoys).  
_


	3. Sea Air and Surprise Arrivals

"I can't believe you're just running off to a little sunny island, and with so little notice! Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" Jackie, who was both a close friend and Hermione's agent, had demanded when she called to explain her eleventh-hour travel plans. "Oh, you just have to write an article while you're there. Isn't it supposed to be packed with infamous snobs, scoundrels and scallywags?"

Hermione had laughed at Jackie's theatrics. She was aware of the reasons the well-heeled wizarding set were exiled in Cythera. After the end of the War and the defeat of Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy had fled back to the small principality to enjoy the power he still held there. Those Death Eaters who could pack up their family estate and flee fast enough to escape prosecution by the Ministry had followed him, as had many who had been suspected of having ties or who harboured sympathy to Voldemort's cause once they realised the old ways had very much been thrown out. But the "old ways" continued on the tiny island; that is to say the powerful few with large enough bank accounts and long enough family histories were favoured and those who weren't deemed rich or pure enough were largely ignored. That was how it had been for centuries, but as they say, that was in the past. After the death of Lucius Malfoy the tide had slowly begun to turn. The rich and powerful were still very rich and very powerful, but there was now growing dissent at this inequality. The Pureblooded minority, as much as they preferred to ignore the fact, were still very much a minority and as such were vulnerable to the might of the masses. Especially when those masses had just as much ability as the favoured few and had started to question their lack of political and economic power. Magic tended to level the playing field somewhat.

She agreed that it would make for a rather interesting article to research, but there were practicalities to consider. Hermione Granger was easily recogniseable and the role she played in the defeat of Voldemort was well known. That in itself would close more doors for her than it would open among those who were voluntarily exiled on Cythera. If she was not pureblooded enough, she was certainly not rich enough to blend in either. The few times she had visited the small country, she had stayed at Draco's hospitality in the palace, which was both Draco's principal home (although Hermione knew he kept the Manor in England) and the seat of the country's government. She might earn a decent enough wage now, but she was certainly in no financial position to be able to afford the lifestyle she had seen the affluent purebloods live on her short visits. And Hermione imagined that little would have changed in that regard over the past eight years.

_And yet so much else had changed…_

Thinking back to the outrageous sum that she had been offered for 'services rendered' after her final visit, Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance at that particular memory. Sighing, she closed her eyes and turned her face up towards the sun as she stood on the deck of the ferry bound for Cythera. This was the calm before the storm. Her last chance to soak up the peace before she unleashed hell…

She was in no hurry to get to Cythera to deliver her message… revenge, so they say, is a dish best served cold.

Hermione had decided against apparating directly to Cythera or travelling via the floo network. For one, she wanted to enjoy the sun for as long as she could before the short ferry ride over from the French coast, and two, with a little coaxing from Jackie, she had decided to take a sort of working holiday.

After the misery of an extended cold and wet Spring, a few days of the warm French climate was a welcome relief from the bleak British weather. Despite her fair English skin Hermione had always felt that she was more suited to the sun than her home country's grey skies and the months of perpetual sodden trouser legs and shoes. The Scottish weather during her schooling years at Hogwarts had been even gloomier. Even so, the multiple layers of scarves, jumpers and overcoats that were necessary to brave the cold did hide a multitude of sins, especially over the indulgent Christmas period, and Hermione was incredibly thankful that she had such an effective form of camouflage during her awkward adolescent years.

It was probably the summers spent with her mother and father in the south of France that had given her such a taste for blue skies and sunshine. Both her mother and father were retired now. Like Hermione, they also disdained the drab English weather and were currently travelling around Australia, having admitted to feeling a suprising affinity with the country after (unknowingly) relocating there during the Horcrux search and battle at Hogwarts. Her father, for one, had become absolutely hooked on Australian Rules Football and Hermione had quickly become bored with his continued complaints about the lack of a proper British alternative. For all of its Muggle-roots, the indecipherable nature of the game, with its complicated rules, unnecessary violence and the seeming chaos of play, had reminded her a lot of Quidditch. Although the fact that the players ran around in only tight shorts and vests, instead of long pants, shirts and billowing cloaks, did bump the game's favour up a few notches in Hermione's eyes.

Luckily the weather in Cythera favoured the French more than the English rain and fog. The island was located closer to France's coastline than England's – in fact it was closer to Spain than the United Kingdom – and it had been more influenced by the Gallic way of life than the English. Its people spoke mostly French, and privately Hermione thought that they had considerable more joie-de-vivre than the emotionally repressed Malfoys, who so personified the worst of the class conscious, stiff-upper lipped British.

Hermione had never forgotten the cruelty of the way Narcissa had spoken to her, just as she had never forgiven Draco for giving his mother the authority to do so. The nineteen year old she had once been, graceless and unsure of herself, had grown up very quickly since then. A brief melancholy darkened her eyes before she pushed unwanted memories away as the small boat drew closer to the island's bustling harbour. She wiped at her eyes, cursing the salty sea air for making them water so.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The colourful sight of people milling around the weekend market stands along the shoreline greeted Hermione as the ferry approached the island's main harbour. Cythera had never been promoted as a tourist attraction, tourists would have been far too common for the Malfoys. The jetty the ferry docked at was bustling with locals, yet still seemed quiet, and she was one of only a handful of visitors arriving. Taking a deep breath of the warm fragrant air, Hermione smelled the warm mixture of the ocean and sunshine.

An official-looking guard stepped forward as she disembarked from the ferry. Handing him her identification papers, Hermione waited as he inspected her before handing them back with a brief nod. It was only as she walked away from the man that she realised she had been holding her breath for the entire process. Why was she worried? After all, Draco shouldn't have ever thought she would deign to step foot in the country again after his callous treatment of her, never mind having had the forethought to put her name on a list of 'persons not to be admitted entry'. That was, if he could even remember her name!

After making her way to the end of the jetty, Hermione hailed the Cytheran version of the Knight Bus. As it drove further inland she alternated between staring unseeing at her reflection in the window and watching as the beautiful scenery rushed by (the driver of this bus had a better track-record for staying on the road than Ernie). Centuries ago, before the country had been gifted to - or, depending on whose account you went by, usurped by - Draco's ancestors, Cythera had been home to a reclusive order of agriwizards. The careful husbandry of the land had been passed down, mostly unchanged, to the people of the area since that time. As Hermione continued towards the capital she couldn't help but admire the neat, orderly rows of vines, trees and fields. She had been the one to encourage Draco to make the populace of Cythera as self-supporting as possible. Yet she had never seen the result of her advice until now. Every acre of agricultural land was used as productively as it could be, and as the bus drove further from the shore Hermione could see the sun flashing off the glass that housed the country's much sought-after crops of organically-grown magical plants (less magical residue and impurities for more accurate use in potions). The road had started to climb now, below her was the small port and the sea, whilst ahead there was–

Hermione's heart beat in a slow, heavy rhythm as the terracotta walls of the city towering over the surrounding landscape came into view. Built on a rocky outcrop and surrounded by plains, the castle commanded an excellent position. The steep incline of the road momentarily cut off the bright sunlight, making Hermione shiver a little at being caught in the cold shadow cast by the imposing castle. She remembered how she had cringed when Draco had first taken her on a tour of the castle, including the ancient dungeons. "We have _nothing _like this at the Manor," he had laughed.

As the bus slowed down just after the narrow, tunnel-like entrance into the main city, Hermione jumped off, blinking rapidly as she emerged into the crisp sunlight from the unnaturally darkened bus. Pansy had told her that Narcissa would be in residence at her favourite apartment in the castle that spring, rather than staying at her country villa. Hermione quickly shrank and then pocketed her luggage, shaking out her thick hair and squaring her shoulders before making her way through the market stalls lining both sides of the street up to the castle gates.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

In his private offices high above the dust and rabble of the city, Draco Malfoy, His Highness, Prince and Supreme Ruler of Cythera stood frowning and massaging his temples. Having just returned from Geneva, where he had been involved in protracted and complex negotiations with regard to his country's financial and political status, he wanted nothing more than to lie in a dark room and catch up on his sleep. However, immediately on his return to the castle he had been informed that the civil unrest which had been simmering between the traditionalist conservatives and the more outspoken and radical members of the population had reached crisis point.

Still frowning, but now moving on to begin rubbing his brow, Draco listened as the Prime Minister, a cousin somewhere down the line who looked old enough to be his great grandfather, lectured him tersely.

"… and so the people want to see you married, Draco. The fact that you, as the last of your line, don't as yet have an heir makes this country insecure. Show the people that you are committed to them, this country, to your responsibilities! We all remember your late father's untimely, and most ignoble, passing. This only further highlights the importance of producing an heir as insurance against any unforeseen circumstances. Besides, your wedding would also solve that _other_ problem. The fuss and spectacular of a royal wedding would help take people's minds off all this political fuss that's being stirred up by all these brash young things who are claiming that we are guilty of allowing criminals and murderers to make use of our country to hide both themselves and their 'blood money', as these radicals insist on calling it, from their home government."

Draco barely suppressed a sigh as he only half-listened to his relative and advisor, at the moment, the loud pounding inside his head was a far more pressing concern. From a personal point of view he completely sympathised with the opinions expressed by the so-called 'brash young things' (for one, they were completely correct) but his shaky position and the power of the elite meant that he could not publicly take sides. Besides, he felt honour-bound to protect not just the reputation of his late father and grandfather (news of both Lucius and Abraxas' misdeeds had miraculously not filtered into the country through international channels), but also the remaining members of the government who had been their peers.

"I thought I had already made my position on this issue clear, Philippe. Listen again, marriage is not the answer to anything. I don't intend to allow those guilty of the murder of other human beings, or any other illegal activities, to use this country as a safety net," Draco began quietly, "but given my father's history, any actions I do take are very open to criticisms of hypocrisy. Furthermore…" he was tired of this conversation, tired of the never ending concerns. He was finding it increasingly difficult to stop himself becoming distracted as he looked down from his window into the market square below.

Standing off to the side of the square, with her back turned to him, and the sun shining down on her was a young woman. Lifting a hand, she raked her fingers through her tousled, and quite bushy, brown hair, as though impatient with it's waywardness – not that it looked like her hair was ever anything but unkempt and wild. Immediately Draco stiffened. There was something about her posture, the squaring of her shoulders and the set straightness of her spine, that he instantly recognised.

_As if the hair hadn't been enough of a clue…_

Any thoughts of his tiredness or headache were quickly forgotten. "My apologies. Philippe, but you will have to excuse me. We can continue this discussion later."

Whilst the grey-haired man watched in silent confusion, Draco pushed open the large double doors and strode purposely through them.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Hermione had no need to ask for directions to Narcissa's quarters. She knew exactly where the suite of rooms she usually occupied were, if only because she had purposely tried to avoid them on the few occasions she had been in Cythera previously. She also knew, from those visits, just how to avoid the formality of entering through the main doors to the castle and making herself known to the impressively uniformed guards stationed there. The traditional attire and swords were more for show than anything else, an acknowledgment of Cythera's history. That was not to say that either the palace or its inhabitants and employees were unprotected. The castle was very efficiently and discreetly patrolled by plain-clothes ex-aurors who formed the bulk of Draco's security staff.

As she slipped through a small side door a hundred memories flooded back to her. Such simple things; the smell of the palace, a mixture of dust, furniture polish and ancient stone; even more so, the scent of Draco's cologne which had complimented and enhanced the castle's atmosphere of intrigue, power and–

Hermione blinked in surprise. She shouldn't allow her imagination and her memories to play tricks on her. She had to remember the purpose for her visit. Angrily, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to ignore the melancholy brought on by her short trip down memory lane. Better that she remember the icy hauteur in Narcissa's voice, the barely concealed contempt and the cruelty with which she had been treated, under Draco's directives after all, as well as the pain she had felt when–

"So it _was_ you! I thought so!"

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A/N: _Firstly, I'd like to extend a big welcome to Draco, who is joining us for the first time in this fic. Second, yes, I killed off Lucius. Hopefully Narcissa is evil enough to compensate. You are free to imagine up any perverted or grisly ending for him you desire. Personally, I like to believe he fell over in the shower and chocked on a large hairball. But that's just me..._

_Thanks to all those who have taken the time to read this, __special thanks__ to those who added this story to Favourites and Alerts and __**extra special thanks **__to those who chose to review. Thank you all for your encouragement so early in the story. I'm beaming good karma your way as we speak. Anyone else who wants good karma should know what to do!_

_... Apologies for the mushiness. There's been no fluff so far in this fic, so I'm forced to use author's notes as my outlet ..._


	4. Machiavelli and Marriage

"Draco!"

Hermione jumped back in shock until she stood against the protection of the wall, her wand arm automatically flying to the pocket at her side and her eyes wide, conveying her surprise at his sudden appearance. What was he doing here? According to Pansy he should have been in Geneva, and would remain there for quite some time.

Hermione reminded herself that she had insisted to Pansy that she would have no apprehensions about confronting Draco if need be. And currently, she was not intimidated in the slightest! Not at all!

Unfortunately, her heart's rapid beating and the sudden dryness of her mouth did not help to convincer herself of either her confidence or her composure.

"Well… what an unexpected visitor!" Draco's voice was flat and emotionless.

More than anything else, he sounded tired and worn out. Unlike Hermione's simple clothing, Draco was dressed formally in a white shirt and expensive looking dark grey trousers. His clothes were slightly rumpled though, and the sleeves of his shirt were pushed half-way up his arms. Noting the dark circles under his eyes and the dishevelled mess that was his usually immaculately-groomed hair, Hermione could not remember a time when she had seen him in such disarray. In fact, the only other time she had seen him so disordered was on that one last night after they had–

Furious with herself for allowing old and painful memories to resurface once again, Hermione scrambled to put her thoughts in order. Ignoring the beginnings of sympathy over his strained appearance she lifted her chin defiantly, met him eye-for-eye and informed him briskly,

"Not to worry. There really isn't any need to roll out the red carpet, I shan't be staying long. I've just come by to see Narcissa."

Immediately, Draco frowned.

"My mother? She's visiting some niece several times removed in Florence. Why do you want to see her? As I recall there was little love lost between the two of you."

Hermione bristled with renewed hostility at the discovery that he had been aware of her and Narcissa's antagonism and had still instructed his mother to humiliate her and discard of her as she had done. She should be savouring this moment… her long-awaited chance to give the Malfoys their much needed come-uppance.

"One would hope royalty is civilised enough not to curse the messenger…"

The silence stretching dangerously between them, taut with years of unspoken resentment and aggression. Hermione's stomach dropped to the floor as she saw the way Draco was looking at her, his eyes narrowed intently, flashing silver. Slightly unsure of herself under his intense scrutiny, Hermione faltered.

"I – message. What I mean to say is… I have a message… news from Pansy!"

She could conveniently forget that one embarrassing stumble when she would proudly recall this moment of her revenge in the future.

"What message? Why is Pansy not here herself? Give me the message!"

Hermione pursed her lips to keep from making a fool of herself once more by doing something ill-considered.

Like poking her tongue out at him and declaring "Nuh uh! You're not the boss of me!", as was her first reaction. And then there had been her second reaction, "Or what – you'll throw me in the dungeons?" She was a twenty seven year old woman for Merlin's sake, and here she was thinking like a petulant toddler.

Speaking of toddlers, _"What message … Give me the message",_ indeed!

"I'm waiting…"

His surly attitude fanned her antipathy into flame once more. Draco was used to demanding something and having it granted in an instant like a spoiled child. At nineteen she might have been in awe of Draco's title and obliging enough to have endured his arrogance and bad temper, but not any longer. Too infuriated to think of prolonging his torture and delighting in her drawn out plot of revenge, Hermione took a deep breath.

"Give you the message…? With the greatest of pleasure, you spoilt, smug, self-obsessed prick!" She smiled unkindly at him and bowed mockingly. "Pansy Hortensia, of the right noble family Parkinson, wishes to inform His Most Serene Highness, the Prince Draco Lucien Valarus Black Malfoy, that she has entered into the contract of marriage with the most forth-right and honourable squire Ronald Bilius Weasley… In plain English, she eloped."

If it was possible, Draco's impossibly straight spine stiffened, but he was yet to voice any scathing comments in response to Hermione's outburst. She raised an eyebrow at Draco's lack of a reaction. Seizing the opportunity, Hermione continued her tirade, gesturing wildly.

"Now that she's finally escaped the machinations of your mother she looks as if she's finally come alive. Pansy's happy with Ron. Much happier than she's ever been, I'd bet. She loves him, you see – or perhaps you don't, having exceptionally little experience with actual human emotions – and he loves Pansy and… unhand me, Malfoy!"

Hermione's wrist was captured in the vice-like grip of Draco's hand, her furious demands to be released completely ignored. Despite her struggles the efforts to free her arm by digging her nails into Draco's fingers, the tensile strength of his grip did not relax one iota. Neither did he slow his pace, or even change his gait, as he dragged her down the richly decorated corridor.

He turned suddenly, pushed open a set of imposing double doors decorated with a tremendous Malfoy family crest and half-dragged, half-thrust a still slitghly off-balance Hermione into the elegantly furnished room that lay beyond them.

As Hermione spun to face him, ignoring the ache in her wrist, she recognised the room that she had been "escorted" to as the main salon in Draco's private suite. Little had changed since the last time she had been in this room; the upholstery, curtains and carpet may have faded a little through wear and bleached by the sunlight, but that was all. It seemed very little in the entire castle had changed since her departure.

"Pansy has gone and married that red-haired vagrant Ronald Weasley?!"

There was no mistaking the frustration in Draco's voice.

"I'm sorry if this has disappointed your plans." Hermione sounded anything but. In fact, she was fighting an almost impossible battle to disguise the self-righteous smile gracing her lips.

Anger flashed in his light grey eyes and his mouth thinned in recognition of her mocking tone.

"Oh, but it's a down-right shame. Your mother really was so invested in facilitating a match between you and Pansy. All those plans, all that hard work, tsk tsk… Still, I am sure that you will quite easily find another woman to take her place – if you don't already have someone waiting in the wings." The cynicism Hermione felt darkened her own eyes and twisted her lips into a crooked line.

Pansy had made no bones about the fact that Draco's desire to marry her had been motivated by cold, hard practicality.

"_Draco doesn't love me, nor did I ever really love him" she had confided in Hermione. "But he was unfailingly polite and kind to me. Until I met Ron again and fell in love with him I can't honestly say that I really minded that our marriage would be solely a political union." Pansy had smiled widely, her cheeks darkening slighty. "That's changed now. I couldn't imagine being married to anyone but Ron. That's why… well, I'm afraid that if I went back to Cythera and told Draco and Narcissa that I couldn't marry him, they might…"_

"_Force you?" Hermione had finished after Pansy trailed off. She would not put it beyond either of Draco or his mother to intimidate Pansy, or anyone else for that matter, and had no misgivings about saying so._

_Pansy had simply shrugged. _"_Draco has to marry someone. He must provide the country with an heir. The people expect it – and Narcissa will make sure of it."_

"The world must be full of shallow, beautiful women who would be only too eager to marry all of this, Draco," Hermione continued her diatribe, gesturing to the room and it's opulent furnishings. "Oh, and _you_, of course! Quite a catch, aren't you? A real-life Prince Charming with his very own fairy tale kingdom and so much to offer besides! Chiefly your arrogance, your petulance, your vanity, your lack of any real emotional depth–"

"That's more than enough." Draco snarled coldly. "You have delivered your message and made your point. Now you're just getting into personal grudges…"

"As if I don't have enough reasons to dislike the name _Malfoy_!"

Draco blithely ignored her muttered remark, "You were correct in one thing, Hermione. It shall be easy for me to find someone to take Pansy's place. Incredibly easy. In fact…"

A rapacious smile, which could in no way be described as friendly, slowly spread across his face. There was something in his expression that made her shudder; made her regret her emotional outburst of pent-up bitterness. Hermione was still panting slightly, not having taken a deep breath since the start of her long speech. She told herself it was for this reason only, and not some residual bitterness towards the ex-Slytherin, that she overlooked his comment about Pansy being easily replaced.

_Since when did he become so coolly economical with his words?_ His measured responses were very disconcerting. Eight years ago he would have stopped her in a second and given just as good as he got. Better even, considering he could insult in several languages, both esoteric and vernacular. In fact, the very idea that she could have somehow shocked him into silence had spurred her on in her abuse, perhaps unwisely.

"In fact," Draco repeated softly, "I have already done so."

Already done so? Now Hermione was definitely shocked. He already had a second choice waiting in the background? When she had accused him of that, it had really just been in the heat of the moment, to show how low her general opinion of him was. She had not even given a thought to the truthfulness of her accusations, it had been enough that she had a chance to make them at all.

But of course, it was so typical of him, Hermione decided contemptuously. She might have been able to derail Narcissa's big plans for Pansy and her son, but Draco was suitably Machiavellian to have prepared a second, third, maybe even fourth backup plan. Hell, he probably had backups way into double digits she thought disparagingly. _(And that was just their I.Q.)_

It really was a pity that Narcissa was away. They could have had a great shouting match, Hermione could have thrown a few of hexes in between dodging _Unforgivables_ and then she would have happily been on her way, knowing that she finally had a one-up on the icy blonde woman. She would have been forever able to take comfort in seeing the controlled social facade slip off, replaced by a snarling mask of frustration and impotence. If she was really lucky, she might have even been able to hit the woman with a good old Bat Bogey Hex.

But she couldn't catch a break with Draco. Just when she thought she had him, he went and turned everything on its head. He was cold, methodical and didn't let anything past him. No doubt he had a whole catalogue of potential brides at his disposal, who would become potential mistresses after the wedding.

Before Hermione could voice her scorn, Draco continued smoothly, "If Pansy won't marry me, Hermione, then you will!"

_Damn him!_ She was not expecting that…

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in updating. Thanks again to readers, hopefully you're enjoying this so far! _

_Heartfelt thank yous go out to __**whatifgirl, Fozzy-Floozy**__ and __**Harmless Lies**__ for their sincere praise._

_**HarryPGinnyW4Eva**__ – well, the marriage proposal seems to indicate interest, but is it a good sign?!_

_**Eva1983**__ – me… a sneak?! Well, yes. I'm getting in touch with my inner Slytherin preens_

_**TheresNothingInside**__ – as I said, it's the Slytherin in me. As for the hairball, it's just one of the many mysteries of the universe!_

_Vietnamese cold rolls for all! But especially__** sma11towngir1 -**__ hopefully they're more appetising than that bit you have to resort to in order to stave off hunger pains ;)_


	5. This Heart Attack

Hermione stared at Draco, speechless in disbelief

_**Damn him, damn him, damn him!**_ She had been the one bearing unexpected news and even so _he_ had somehow managed to shock _her_ into silence.

She was not sure how long she just stood eyes wide, jaw hanging open in disbelief. He simply remained standing, arms folded over his chest, waiting patiently for her reaction. He seemed oddly refreshed by all this drama and verbal sparring. All traces of tiredness had left his visage; he watched her patiently, but alertly, as if he wasn't sure if she was more likely to faint or suddenly lash out and start kicking, punching and screaming. Come to think of it, Hermione wasn't altogether sure either.

"What?" she demanded when her voice was working again, albeit cracking slightly. She swallowed hastily. "Is your idea of a joke…?"

"I can assure you I am entirely serious." Draco's voice was crisp and coldly confident. Indeed, there was no hint of humour in his expression, no smirk to show he had just said that to throw her off kilter for a moment.

"There is much expectation surrounding the announcement of my engagement. Naturally, there has been a great deal of gossip and public speculation. A public statement was set to be made this week and it would be a huge disappointment to the people if we were to cancel now, not to mention a public relations disaster."

"Everyone is expecting you to announce your engagement to _Pansy_," Hermione reminded him numbly.

"The bride is of no real importance," Draco replied condescendingly. "The main issue is that I have to get married."

"Maybe so, but you won't be marrying me!" Hermione told him fiercely, thankful to have finally recovered from her initial shock. It was slightly embarrassing to think that she had only just thought to deny it now. It should have been her first thought. _Maybe second, after she had slapped him…_

"Oh, but I will, Hermione. As you know, this is a very traditional country, and its older generations have certain fixed beliefs and expectations. I certainly couldn't ask you to provide me with an heir if we weren't already legally married. Think of the scandal!"

That was it! She'd reached her limit. Hermione was going to hit him. Her temper would snap and she would wallop him right in his pale, haughty, _attractive_, aristocratic face. He thought he was funny! Well, she'd soon wipe that disgustingly smug expression off his face... Except for the small fact that she still couldn't seem to actually command her body to move; her mind screamed, but her body was rooted firmly in place.

Oh, well… She'd inflict physical damage later, right now she had to correct a few of Draco's misunderstandings.

"I refuse to even dignify that last comment with a response. I have declined your proposal. Find another prospective wife slash baby-machine. Surely Crabbe and Goyle have sisters?!"

"First of all, that is a ghastly thought. No matter how much you might dislike me, female Crabbe or Goyle should not be wished on _anyone_. Neither should we encourage the propagation of those truly unfortunate genetic anomalies." His lip curled elegantly, clearly showing his disgust at the very thought.

"Secondly, this marriage is a sensitive issue. I am a busy man. I lack the time required to find another prospective 'baby machine'. Much of my schedule is already taken up by dealing with political processes and protracted negotiations involving the demands of opposing groups within Cythera. There are those who feel that their position in society and values are under threat from change from within and without, set against that the ordinary people want to be enfranchised and equal and even more radically who are pressuring for integration with Muggle culture and technology. I must balance these concerns with increased scrutiny over the background of some of our permanent residents, without whose vital financial input this country would be bankrupted. So you see, my marriage will reassure the older generation and those who are invested in the status quo of my own commitment to this country and its future, while by marrying a muggle-born witch I will also show that I am willing to break from Wizarding traditions dominated by notions of blood purity," he crossed his arms in a very business-like manner. "Basically it would buy me time with both groups."

Hermione stared at him in contemptuous disgust.

"How _**dare **_you use me like some political tool to prop up your feudal oligarchy? No wonder Pansy preferred to marry Ron. He may not have your wealth or your position, but at least Ron is human, with human emotions and reactions. Not cold and calculating, like you! You horrible, scheming, manipulative, smug, chauvinistic–"

Draco cut her off crossly. "I think you've said enough. In fact, you've said _more _than enough."

Hermione could feel his unyielding, and quite merciless resolve reaching out to her, _or perhaps he was using a very subtle form of the_ _Imperius_? But she stubbornly refused to give into it – or him.

"Draco, I'm not an awe-struck teenager any more," she warned him. "I will not be ordered around – if you want a wife, then bloody well find someone else. I said 'no'. You can't _make _me marry you!"

"No?" Draco clearly still had something up his sleeve.

Was he _actually_ going to resort to using the _Imperius_ curse?

"It might interest you to know that I have recently heard some rather interesting things about your wonderful friend, Ronald Weasley."

Hermione's guilty conscience went into overdrive. But surely he couldn't know – no one knew. It must be something completely unrelated and she was just being excessively anxious… But still…

Something told her that Draco wasn't interested in swapping gossip.

"Now, tell me… are you still as protective of him, as devoted to him, as you were in school? Still as ready to fly to his defence? Of course you are, you can take the girl out of Gryffindor…" he answered his own question tauntingly. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Without allowing her to answer he continued, "He works for a Gringotts, I believe? Could never decide what he actually wanted to do as I remember, and so he just got one of those countless siblings to recommend him. Would it surprise you to know that he's been taking some particularly risky decisions with clients' money? He always was the reckless one, wasn't he? The kind to curse first, ask questions later… Did you know that he's been on the verge of losing everything? Oh, of course you know," he mocked softly. "A devoted caring friend like you! You were the first person he came running to when he realised the fix he had gotten himself into, weren't you?"

Hermione was unable to respond; she felt as though her vocal cords had completely seized up. Instead, she stood listening in growing apprehension as Draco taunted her mercilessly. She could feel a surge of corrosive bile rising in the back of her throat, while a sensation of icy dread choked her insides.

No one, absolutely no one – apart from Ron and herself – could possibly know about all that. She had made certain to cover their tracks and fix any discrepancies. Not usually one to keep secrets, Hermione had even forbade Ron from telling Harry the potential danger he had been in and her role in helping him out of it… But somehow Draco knew.

Did that mean that he also knew…?

"It was indeed opportune that Weasley has such a devoted and clever friend in Hermione Granger," a shiver ran down her spine unpleasantly. "Who is not only willing but also able to help him out of the mess of his own making. How noble of you! Did you also do his homework for him at Hogwarts? A friend, prepared to risk her own career and professional reputation to help him. Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it _Hermione_?"

"I have no idea what you mean." At last she had got her voice back, but Draco was quite plainly unimpressed and unconvinced by her flat denial.

He smirked. "Liar. You know _exactly_ what I mean. Weasley predictably got himself into a mess and you got him out of it. So first you ignore your job and you cover it up, it was probably never news fit to be reported anyway, right? Then you ask a few colleagues at your journal for tips and perhaps you advise him on which investments to make to undo the damage he had done. It's just like checking over an essay and fixing his mistakes, just like old times, eh? Break a few rules, it's like being back at school again! Except this is not Hogwarts, this is real life, and this time there's no kindly old fool of a Headmaster to award house points at the end of your adventure to ensure you win the House Cup."

Hermione could not bear to keep eye contact. How on earth had he managed to find out about Ron's problems? She had sworn Ron to total secrecy and had not told anyone about it herself. She had been too concerned for him when he had told her, sheepish and red-faced, what had happened to be able to refuse him help. Usually Hermione had refused to even bend rules, let alone break them. She would have never considered doing it for her own benefit. In normal circumstances would have never considered it _at all_. But this time…

"He's my best friend," she responded woodenly. "Naturally, I felt compelled to help him."

She hated the predatory satisfied gleam she could see in Draco's eyes.

"Even if in providing that help you were guilty of insider trading?" he challenged, his voice soft but his words nonetheless weighing heavily on her.

"No… that's not true," she protested. "It wasn't like that at all. I was helping… It wasn't insider trading. It was– "

"Maybe not in your own reasoning. And it may not have been your intention, but I'm sure you will agree that in the right hands, with the right kind of publicity – or rather in the wrong hands – it could be made to look very bad for you, indeed. Even worse, perhaps, considering the publicity surrounding your past, shall we say, 'indiscretions'. People would finally see that even the blameless, oh-so-perfect Gryffindor Hermione Granger isn't above suspicion."

Hermione's mind flashed quickly to Rita Skeeter's yellow journalism in her fourth year. The exaggerated stories and biased reporting that had ignored important truths had in part motivated her career choice. She shuddered to think that she might now be just as guilty as Skeeter. Remembering Skeeter and the ridiculous public reactions to the complete fabrication of her love affairs with both Krum and Harry, she shuddered again thinking how this situation would been blown completely out of proportion and twisted beyond recognition. No doubt the blame for the whole sorry episode would be placed squarely on her shoulders. Ron would be painted as the innocent victim in her conniving scheme. Pins and needles crept up her hands, phantom memories of the excruciating burns from bubotuber pus. And, now how damaging it would be that there was even a grain of truth to Draco's accusations.

"For starters, you'd probably lose your job and any professional status and credibility you worked so hard to achieve. In the swirl of publicity and without you to rely on that no-talent Weasley would certainly lose his. It would be so easy to destroy you both, _Hermione_."

He said her name in such a mocking tone. Hermione repressed a shudder, thinking back to their vulnerable friendship when the use of their first names had been polite and sincere. How different it was to hear it now, his hostile voice warping her usually familiar name into something almost unrecognisable.

"You're pathetic. You've never really gotten over the resentment you felt as an 11-year old. If Ron loses his job, what will happen to Pansy?" Suddenly the cogs in her mind switched up a gear. "Or is it Pansy you really want to hurt?"

"Pansy is the last person I would want to hurt in any way. My proposed marriage to her was a cut and dried diplomatic arrangement. As a matter of fact, I am extremely fond of her, more than enough to keep a watchful eye on your Weasel friend. If he does anything, anything whatsoever, to hurt her or make her regret her decision to marry him, if I even suspect–"

"Do you even _listen _to yourself? You say all that, and yet you're the one who is threatening to… to... destroy their life together!" Hermione reminded him fiercely.

"And _you_ have the means to ensure that I do not," Draco countered smoothly. "The decision is yours."

Hermione stared at him. The room was warm, but she felt as though she were encased in ice. Her mind ticked over slowly. Her vision blurred. She could feel the coldness seeping into her bones, running through her veins, as deliberate and insidious as his threat to ultimately ruin Ron and herself.

"You would really do all that?"

All the horror and disgust she felt was in her voice, but Draco seemed impervious to it.

"I see that you don't question that I _can_ do it – that shows an admirable grasp of reality, Hermione. One that I am almost surprised of, knowing your attachment to those two paragons of delusion, Weasley and Potter. It would make everything so much simpler if you were to also accept the inevitability of our relationship… Not to worry, though. No one expects a modern "mixed" marriage to last for very long. I will be sure to realise the error of my ways in reneging on tradition eventually and then we shall both be free to go our separate ways."

"Draco, this marriage is blatant blackmail!" Hermione accused him, adding emphatically. "There are laws against that kind of thing."

"You forget," Draco returned in a warning tone. "In Cythera, I _am_ the law."

"What you _are_ is contemptible!" Hermione yelled at him, her voice thick with disgust.

Draco's voice remained level and calm as he told her, "The choice is yours. Either you agree to this engagement and marriage, or you and your friend …"

"You know I can't do that to Ron … You're the same as ever, aren't you, Draco? I can't imagine that I was ever naïve enough to –"

Hermione stopped, her cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment.

"Oh, don't stop there," Draco taunted. "You were just getting to the good part. Naïve enough to… what, exactly? To think that it would work? To ignore those voices of reason in your head that said it wouldn't and abandon yourself to–"

"Stop it. _Stop it._"

Hermione frantically covered her ears with her hands as she tried to block out not just his cruel words but also the haunting and disturbingly clear images that they were conjuring in her head. She managed to ignore the memories but she could not block his voice out entirely.

"Fine. But I believe you were yelling words to the opposite effect that particular night. Something more along the lines of–"

Her hands had left her ears and formed two tight fists. In a few steps, she could be standing toe to toe with him. He was too tall now for her to hit him squarely in the face, but she reasoned she could just punch him in the stomach and then break his nose when he was doubled over. Maybe kick him in the shin for good measure. Or significantly higher up, in retribution for that comment about her providing him with heirs. Maybe after she boxed Draco's nose a bit she might be more amenable to sitting down and politely talking this problem out? Either that, or he would be less motivated to try and force Hermione Granger into something she _**did not**_ _**want to do**_.

It was time to get proactive.

The loud creak of the large wooden entry doors opening interrupted Hermione's incensed progress over the rich carpet.

"Draco, you're back! How did it go in Geneva?"

* * *

_A/N: When I'm good, I very very good… but when I'm bad, I'm awful. I have consulted the Sorting Hat and it keeps placing me in Ravenclaw, which means I have to keep up the Slytherin-ly behaviour if I ever have a chance of making it! So, another evil cliffie!_

_Thanks again to everyone who took the time to read or add this to Favourites / Alerts. It's good to know that there are people out there who can muddle through this and get something out of it as well. __**Love **__especially to those who reviewed. Those itty bitty boxes with words in them brighten my day significantly. It really helps to get some feedback so I know that I'm not just imagining the hit counter increasing. Cheers!_


	6. It's Not Narcissa

Hermione tensed as the wide double doors were suddenly thrown open, her breath catching in her throat as she stared in shock at the man who had just walked in

He had such a marked resemblance to Draco that it was obvious the two men were related – indeed, for a moment she had thought that Draco's father had somehow emulated Voldemort, had come back from the dead, gotten himself a haircut and taken a few years off his face while he was at it.

Once her heart had calmed down from her initial irrational panic, Hermione realised the man could not be Lucius. Lucius was most definitely dead. His death had been widely reported; there was a body and a funeral and everything. Furthermore, this man was subtly different in both appearance and manner _and_ he was speaking with a loud, brash American accent rather than the clipped, refined tones of the aristocracy.

"Oh!" As he saw Hermione he stopped speaking and looked enquiringly at Draco. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you had company."

Draco waved his hand, indicating the interruption was nothing to apologise for.

"It's perfectly alright, Luc. In fact, you can be the first to hear our news and congratulate me. Allow me to introduce my bride-to-be, Hermione Granger."

He really was a master actor. All traces of bitterness had left his voice and he subtly took a step closer to insinuate himself next to her. Hermione sent a heated glare at Draco until she felt the eyes of the new man on her. They were a different colour to Draco's, Hermione noticed as he focused on her. A light hazel, instead of that instantly recognisable cold steely grey, and she guessed he was probably a few years younger in age. Maybe a thousand years younger in personality and opinion.

"Your bride-to-be? But I thought that Pansy…" Luc stopped, looking uneasy.

"A common misunderstanding," Draco told him calmly. "As it happens, Hermione and I go back a long way. We attending Hogwarts together, and we were involved for a time after the War. Disagreeable circumstances led to us parting, but we have fortuitously found one another once again."

Hermione barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It sounded so preposterous and insincere put that way.

Luc grinned nonetheless. "I guess the old brigade isn't concerned so much with who you decide to marry, just so long as you continue your royal line with some little royal babies. There was some real nervousness there after the war that you would decide to step down because of all the hassle you were getting and turn the country into a republic. And now that there's this push for muggle-integration… I suppose as an American citizen I oughta claim that you _should_ have rule by the people for the people, but I confess, I kinda like it that I'm related to royalty – even if it is on the wrong side of the blanket."

Hermione marveled at the speed at which Luc was speaking, but Draco did not seem to have any difficulties keeping up.

"You're a successful self-made man, Luc. I would have thought that was something to be far more proud of than any title bestowed by birth."

Since when had Draco Malfoy stop caring about status? During their brief friendship Hermione had thought that he had changed for the better, but Narcissa has quickly cured her of that notion. Yet here he was…

"Careful, Draco, otherwise I might start thinking the lofty prince is longing to mess about in the muck like all us commoners."

"Hardly. _Someone_ around here has to set the standards for good hygiene and grooming."

"I'm sorry Your Most Excellently Clean Highness. I'll try and remember to tuck my shirt in next time I'm granted audience." Luc laughed loudly at his own impertinence. Even Draco cracked a genuine-looking smile. "But before you go feeling sorry for your cosseted, pampered self, I know for a fact that you could have done exactly what I have. And don't forget I had the advantage of inheriting all of that nothing I started out with from my dirt-poor father! All you inherited was a whole country and a truly swoon-worth title…"

"Ah, yes. My tiny, miniscule country beset with problems and that set of old state regalia, which, may I remind you, is hot and itches!"

Luc winked lewdly. "But the women all go crazy for a man in uniform, don't they now?"

"And they don't go crazy for a man with millions and his own yacht?"

Hermione's eyes rounded as she continued to listen the two of them subtly teasing each other. This was definitely a side to Draco she had never seen before. Well, one that she had only seen glimpses of in the past during that short period after the War, before she was disillusioned.

"By the way, do I get to be the first to kiss the beautiful bride-to-be?"

To Hermione's bemusement, just before Luc reached her to bestow upon her his friendly kiss Draco grabbed a hold of her arm and drew her to his side, keeping his own body between them.

"Hermione, allow me to introduce you to my second cousin, Lucas Bonython. Luc and I have only recently discovered our relation."

Luc's face broke into another broad smile and he let loose a warm laugh. And then the wink.

"Yeah, that's true. Draco's grandpa was my dad's dad. Thing is, he sorta neglected to sign that on my Dad's birth certificate! My grandma only told us all what happened when she was dying. Up until then she pretended that she'd been married here and lost her husband to Grindelwald then moved to America after she was widowed. She was… But I'm boring the shirt off you. I guess what you two lovebirds really want right now is to be on your own…"

Being on her own with Draco was the very last thing Hermione wanted! but before she could say anything Luc was turning to Draco. Draco left Hermione's side to converse with his cousin, their voices lowered beyond a normal conversational level. She turned her back to their conversation, as if admiring the view out the wide windows, but twisted her head in such a way that she could just make out their words.

"… guess we can talk about Geneva later. You ought to know that there's been a hell of a lot of speculation going on amongst the Blooded set. Seems like plenty of 'em fear that you might be forced to make a change of policy, and give in to those who are causing so much trouble."

"There's no question of that." Draco's said in a terse tone. "For one thing we're almost wholly dependent on the income from those residents, although…" His wide forehead creased into a frown. "There are certain issues to do with the way things were conducted here during my father's times which are going to have to be addressed."

Hermione was well-versed in the financial status of the state, having read extensively about anything and everything to do with the country when she first heard of it and later visited, but over the intervening years she ignored Cythera and its ruler's existence and had not realised there was any internal pressure on Draco regarding the way the country was run.

"At least the news of your coming marriage will put a stop to gossip going round that you intend to step down as ruler…"

Nice to meet you, Hermione," Luc called out to her. His smile was plastered back on his face and he waved vigorously as he headed towards the doors. "You'll both have to come down and have dinner with me some time at my place. Although you're both probably busy with formal engagements until the wedding. When is it, by the way? I'll clear my busy calendar."

This time Hermione fully anticipate the wink.

"The end of the month. This year marks the five hundred year anniversary since my family was granted this land. It seems fitting to celebrate my marriage at the same time."

Hermione was too shocked to speak. When Draco had told her that she must marry him she had no idea he intended the wedding to take place so soon! Pansy had implied that her marriage to Draco was something that was to take place at some unspecified date well into the future. Bloody Slytherins. Even when they had nothing to gain from it they went around being all secretive and keeping things to themselves.

"Symbolic of your intention to see that the family continues to rule for another five hundred years?" Luc suggested, leaving the room. "What suspiciously good timing."

Shaking herself free of the disbelief immobilising her yet again, Hermione waited until the door had closed behind him before turning to Draco and telling him sensibly, "This has gone far enough… We can't go through with this, Draco. It's crazy. People will realise this marriage is nothing more than a pathetic sham. Everyone knows we despise each other."

"At home, perhaps, but Cythera has only recently opened up to international media, and for the most part the news we receive comes from France. Likewise, the world's media for the most part is unaware of our existence. This was the reason my father could remain in power here; no one knew of his actions back in Britain and few in Britain realised he was hiding out here. There is no reason to assume that our petty childhood rivalries would be found when for so many years his involvement with Voldemort was safely hidden."

"But it's so obvious we can't get along. Even people here will figure out we aren't so happily married when we regularly attempt to rip each other's heads off. And we haven't the slightest thing in common!"

"Well, we did have that one thing…"

Before Hermione could say a word, Draco's hands were clamped on her upper arms and she was being jerked towards him. Before she could react, before her mind had even fully recognised what was happening, she was held tight against him, his head bent over her own. For the longest moment, he just looked at her.

Hermione was held immobile by his gaze. Somehow, being held in his arms, she forgot to be angry. She forgot all about how this would be a perfect opportunity to apply her knee to a particularly vulnerable part of his anatomy and just stared back at him.

Draco's lips quirked into an expression that could _almost_ be deemed a smile. His hold on her changed subtly; his fingertips trailed lightly from her upper arm, to her shoulder and over her collarbone. Hermione's breath fluttered and gazing into his pale grey eyes she remembered how it had been that one perfect time. How he had watched her just as intently, held her just as closely. It didn't occur to her to think of anything else.

His hand resting at the base of her neck, Draco toyed with a loose curl before he moved his hand to cup her cheek, and brought his lips to hers.

It had been eight years since she had last felt his mouth against hers; since she had last felt the hardness of his body, all lean muscle and bone. In those eight years she had forgotten the pleasure he had provoked with only his kiss, his touch, his _presence_, and to remember instead the corrosive pain of her disillusionment and humiliation.

And yet… and yet…

Hermione's lips softened, her brain clouded by the dizzying warmth of contentment. She felt drugged, lethargic. Of their own volition, her lips parted and as she felt his tongue dart into her mouth. A feeling akin to an electric shock jolted through her, heightening every one of her senses. She could smell him, feel him, taste him.

Her body remembered him…some instincts… some senses… some memories were perhaps so deeply ingrained in a person's consciousness that nothing could erase them.

But then her mind resurfaced suddenly.

Desire was tainted by pain and anger. The sense of him surrounding her was no longer comforting, it was smothering her! His once-sweet taste had turned bitter and his longed-for touch burned her skin, and at the same time left her feeling cold and empty inside. She should not be feeling like this! It wasn't fair that he should do this to her – make her remember how it had been, how she had wanted it to be, how it had so cruelly ended.

But since when had Draco ever been fair? When had he ever done anything that wasn't motivated by self-interest? He had pursued her, played the part expertly and fooled her completely into thinking he had changed. And then, after he got what he wanted from her he had rejected her; dismissed her from his life; ignored her like a toy he had grown bored with.

"No!"

Panic cut through her thoughts, replacing the hazy fog of sensation that had clouded her mind. She lifted her hands and pushed against his chest, at the same time wrenching her mouth from beneath his and staggering back several steps.

She looked up finally, not quite meeting his gaze, but looking somewhere just above his nose. Almost as if she thought that looking directly into his eyes would hypnotise her out of her wits and back into his arms. The way he was staring at her made Hermione's stomach lurch with anxiety. That steely grey gaze was far too sharp and penetrating.

She hated the silence. Hated the awkward quiet broken only by shallow pants as they both tried to catch their breath. Hated the fact that it stretched uncomfortably, and all he did was scrutinise her. He didn't move. He didn't storm from the room, didn't try to recapture her in his embrace, didn't even run his hand through his silver blonde hair in an effort to restore it to some order. He just stood there and watched her, an inscrutable expression on his face, as always.

Defensively she snapped at him, "No matter how much you might believe it so, Draco Malfoy, you are not Merlin's given gift to women. You are not so handsome, or talented, that I will swoon and forget everything with just one little kiss! You are the last man I would ever want to kiss. But of course it's typical of you that you were too intent on doing what you wanted to notice that I wasn't there with you. In fact, you are the last man I would ever want at all!"

"Really?" His tone was even more sardonic than the look he was giving her. His eyes moved down from her dilated pupils, to the pulse hammering at the base of her throat, and finally to the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Hermione's face flamed in angry humiliation.

"That doesn't mean anything," she told him fiercely, bringing her arms up and folding them in front of her chest in an effort to hide the hardened peaks of her breasts from his intense gaze. "You inspire me to anger, not lust."

Draco was supremely non-perturbed. "Indeed. Well, get used to that anger because let me warn you now, for as long as our marriage lasts there will be no other man in your life but me."

"You can't tell me what to do –" Hermione began, but Draco stopped her immediately.

"Actually, you have no option other than to do as I say, Hermione." He said gently, but there was no gentleness in his eyes. Just a hard, implacable determination that warned her he meant every word he was saying. "Because if you don't, both you and your friend…"

She couldn't allow him to carry out his threats, she acknowledged, no matter how strong her feelings of outrage and disgust were towards him. Except that now, after that one kiss, Hermione was unsure of exactly how that outrage and disgust would hold under scrutiny…

Not that any of that mattered right now.

Ron was newly married. He was settling down after a turbulent period of dejection and uncertainty over his career. She wouldn't spoil that for him now for anything in the world.

And then there was the matter of her _own_ reputation… she had spent so many years and invested so much time and energy in her career. The name Hermione Granger was respected, something she had strived for since before she had first stepped foot in Hogwarts' Great Hall. She had succeeded in everything she put her mind to so far; she made the best scores at school, she had been instrumental in bringing down Voldemort, she was now one of the most widely read and trusted columnists in a reputable journal. She was respected as an intelligent, powerful and successful modern-day witch. Hermione _refused_ to suffer a very public failure, she would not be compromised. She couldn't let all her hard work and overtime be for nothing. But at the same time, she would not sit meekly by and wait for the meetings with flower arrangers and dressmakers …

"Very well." Hermione told him through gritted teeth. "As you say, it seems I have no other option. But I promise you that I shall make this as painful an experience as possible. I will cause you to hate every single day, every single minute and every second of this forced marriage, just as much as I."

She _had_ succeeded in everything she put her mind to so far…

Draco gestured, as if to an unseen audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, my charming fiancée!" He took a shallow bow, "so loving, so tender, so complacent – I'm sure that ours shall be a match made in–"

"Hell!" Hermione savagely interrupted him.

"So much passion!" His gaze wandered lazily up and down her form. "But then, you always were… passionate."

The look he was giving her was an open insult. Somehow Hermione managed to bite back the words she was longing to throw at him, recognising they could spend all day and night arguing in this vein and get nowhere. She had a gut-sinking feeling that if this marriage were to go ahead, they might spend the rest of their natural lives doing so.

She had to get out of this room, away from _him_, he was doing things to her head…

She turned quickly on her heel and stalked to the large doors, her head held high and back ramrod straight. Slamming the doors shut, she leaned back against them.

"You don't know the half of it, Draco Malfoy."

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_A/N: So I spared you all a Slytherin ending. I was toying with it, I really was.  
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_Next chapter is a whole new day, same argument. But I swear, we will be getting some action soon. After all, Narcissa has to come back __**eventually**__. Oh, that wasn't the action you were after!?_

_Thanks to loyal readers (but really, how loyal does one need to be when there are only 6 chapters?)._

_Extra special, bottom of my heart, greeting card THANKS to reviewers, who I love from afar and I hope continue loving me back - or at least putting up with me when I decide to go all Slytherin on them __… Always a pleasure, guy!_

_I'm afraid all I have to offer in thanks is a cup of tea and a biscuit – oh, and karma, lots and lots of good karma…_


	7. The Morning After

being of short duration. Once Draco's purpose was served the divorce would be quick and uncompromising. It wasn't a real marriage, after all; merely a pretence to suit Draco's own ends. Although she was apprehensive about what his purpose was exactly, that wasn't the cause of the majority of her tension. No, she hated the fact that he had the power to force her to do as he wished, once again she was allowing herself to be used and manipulated to suit him. Just as she had eight years previously.

The maid had finished opening the curtains and was standing a respectful distance from her bed. Hermione smiled warmly, albeit shyly. Being waited on might come naturally to the upper echelons of wizarding society, but she still felt uncomfortable with subservience… even if the castle staff were getting a decent paid wage out of it.

"My name is Chloe. I am to be your personal maid. If you wish to have breakfast here in your suite…"

Her English was perfect, if a bit stilted. It had been Draco who had insisted that Cytheran schools teach all pupils English as a second language. Back then, he had been strong-willed enough to oppose the old-fashioned views of the Regency of Ruling Elders, who had felt that such a course was not worth the expense.

Hermione remembered scathingly how much she had admired him for his stance all those years ago. But at that time she was inclined to admire anything and everything that Draco did. As well as admiring Draco himself. Admired? She scoffed. Hermione had adored him, worshipped him…

"Thankyou, Chloe. But you mustn't bother. It's perfectly alright, I can –" she began, and then stopped speaking as the door to her bedroom was thrust open and Draco strode in. The maid took one look at him, looked at Hermione still lying in bed, dipped in a low curtsy and fled, round-eyed and pink-cheeked.

With her maid's sudden departure, Hermione was left alone to glare unwelcomingly at him. Too late, Hermione cursed herself for not bringing something suitable to sleep in, and pulled the bed sheets more firmly up under her chin.

It was unnerving; he standing there, already freshly showered and smartly dressed while she, having just woken up, was lying in bed in only her underwear still trying to recover all of her mental faculties. Of course, he probably wasn't kept up all night by any internal battle or over-active conscience. Indeed, Draco looked well-rested and considerable better than he had the day before. Hermione bemoaned the fact that she no doubt looked a mess; sleep-rumpled, bed-headed, puffy faced and no doubt with dark rings under her eyes.

She cursed his almost innate sophistication and style. Put Draco in any kind of clothes and in any kind of setting, no matter how humble, and he would draw people's attention even so. It wasn't just his unusual colouring, but also his tall and lean build. He might have worked on the Quidditch field to add a bit of bulk and muscle definition to his frame, but it was scheming devious Mother Nature who had given him his keen features and superbly male form. Damn Nature, _she_ was the one responsible for the havoc that he created in Hermione's mind, and her body's instant reactions to his presence.

Without any preamble, or so much as a good morning, Draco informed Hermione, "We shall announce our engagement at noon today, in the castle square, along with the date of our wedding… The papers will be informed that so in love are we and so blissfully happy to have been reunited we could not bear the thought of a protracted engagement."

Of course, as much as he was physically attractive, Draco's personality was… repugnant. Hermione wasn't in the least impressed by the air of arrogant superiority that he wore like a cloak, quite the opposite.

"So you still intend to go ahead with this charade?" Hermione challenged him fiercely. "I should have thought that a night of sensible reflection would have shown you –"

"If you remember my cousin Luc, he has invited us to join him this evening for an informal celebration of our engagement." He ignored her speech completely. "I assume you have something suitable to wear? Business robes or something suitably formal?"

Merlin, he really was incredibly arrogant. She could never get a word in edgewise when he was trumpeting on but he just talked over her as if she was nothing. Well, come to think of it, that's exactly what she was in his eyes …

"I must say that I was impressed to learn what an excellent degree you graduated with. But then you always were almost unnaturally intelligent and obsessively committed at school. Not to mention the favourite pet of every teacher. I, for one, find it strange how you can whole-heartedly support one type of authority yet consistently place yourself in opposition to another. You and your causes… but then I remember that you always were an intensely _passionate_ crusader."

Hermione refused to ignore the double meaning behind that final comment.

"No, Draco, I was a _vulnerable _young girl. Fortunately, I had the good sense to realise how empty and… valueless the relationship we had was." She corrected him bitterly.

She watched his mouth thin. "Be careful," Draco warned her silkily, "otherwise I might be tempted to show you that there could be certain aspects of a relationship between us that you –"

"No. I might have once been foolish enough… but I was very quickly cured of that error in judgement."

"By the countless other men with whom you were involved during your–?"

"How dare you speak so sanctimoniously about my sexual history? The _Daily Prophet_ and every witch's magazine carry stories about _your_ regularly rotating pieces of arm candy. Models, singers, actresses…"

"The press simply chooses to deliberately misconstrue matters, you of all people should realise that. Besides, none of that is –"

"Any of my business?" Hermione decided she quite liked being the one to interrupt, rather than it being the other way around. "Of course it isn't. And neither is my relationship history any business of yours!"

Not for anything would she have him know of her insistence on reading every word printed describing the beauty of his companions and his attentiveness towards them. Anyway, it had only been to reinforce how much better off she was without him!

"Your past may not be my business, but so far as your relationship present and future… well, you are to be my wife. As your soon-to-be-husband, I warn you now that –"

"You _warn_ me! _You_ warn _me_! It's not like I actually _chose_ to be your wife! I showed up here to kindly inform you of some news that just might affect you and you turn around and inform me of this quite unforeseen, imminent change in my marital status. But get this straight, Draco, there is now way –"

Halfway through vigorously gesturing, Hermione realised that the sheet was sliding down to uncover her body. Automatically she made to snatch it up and protect herself modestly, but Draco beat her to it. His long fingers capturing the edge of the sheet and holding it firmly in his powerful-looking fist.

"I really do think it's past time for you to get up, Hermione."

With that the cover was pulled out of her hands to lie in a heap on the end of the bed. Draco did not lower his piercing grey gaze from her eyes but Hermione could feel a blush burning on her cheeks. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands, after all she still had on her bra and knickers.

It was definitely too late to cover herself now. She got off the bed to stand to stand on the other side of the mattress, feeling uncomfortable lying prostrate with him towering over her. Hermione was not entirely sure why, but his steadfast refusal to break eye contact needled her greatly. He kept his eyes fixed unwaveringly on her own, as if her body was of so little interest to him that it didn't even merit a look. She knew Draco hadn't exactly lived the life of a monk and the women he had previously been involved with were breathtakingly beautiful with bodies to match (and even sometimes, which managed to eclipse) but she wasn't so ugly, was she? Granted, her stomach wasn't entirely flat and she had a little extra flesh which steadfastly refused to budge from her hips and thighs, but that was usually the case on a real, healthy figure.

"You don't sun bathe topless…"

Now why on earth would he mention that now? And how had he even noticed when, so far as she was aware, he hadn't even glanced at her breasts?

"I'm surprised to see that base voyeuristic instinct surface in you, Draco. You've always held yourself on a higher and more rarified plane that everyone else, haven't you, Your Supremely Pure of Blood But Not of Mind Highness?"

Hermione was satisfied that her words had had an affect on him as she watched his eyes narrow and saw the flicker of anger in them. Dropping his gaze to her body he looked her up and down with an insolent thoroughness that only added to the colour on her cheeks before slowly raising his eyes to hers once more.

"You were flaunting yourself to me."

Hermione interrupted him angrily. "Flaunt myself? You've got to be joking."

He frowned, sliding back his jacket cuff to glance at the heavy silver watch on his wrist. Hermione found it strange that he should be wearing a Muggle time-piece.

"You have two hours to have breakfast and get yourself dressed and ready. We shall meet in the Indigo Salon at eleven," he informed her coolly. "My press secretary has prepared the announcement of our engagement. Now, I have an important floo call to make."

With that he turned abruptly and moved towards the door. She was thrown by his sudden change in demeanour, so that it took her a moment more than necessary to realise that he had left the room. Still pink-cheeked, she slowly padded over to close the door to her room he had left open in his haste, before making her way to her bathroom to get ready for the day.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

In the dressing room of her suite, Hermione stood and studied her reflection carefully in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Finally satisfied, she released a small sigh.

Her classically tailored robes were perfect for the occasion, as Draco had suggested, perhaps erring slightly on the side of formality.

A broad grin curved her lips.

Which was why she had left the suit hanging in the closet. Which was why she was now dressed in a pair of slim-fitting black jeans and a shirt unbuttoned to bare her cleavage and short enough to show the smallest fraction of creamy skin just above the waist of her jeans.

Heavy eye-liner and mascara, combined with a deep red for her lips, large dangly earrings and enough hairspray rival a Sticking Charm had transformed her from her normal unpretentious, simple style into a very passable replica of a vamp; what's more she looked decidedly Muggle.

It was the kind of sultry look she never would have normally assumed, and Draco was bound to loathe it, Hermione decided gleefully.

Five minutes til eleven. She had timed it perfectly.

Grinning again, she opened the door to her suite and stepped into the corridor.

Hermione was relishing the impact her appearance was likely to have on Draco. Her behaviour might be childish, but it was her only way of demonstrating how she felt about what he was doing – the only way she had of rebelling against him without hurting herself or Ron short of placing a permanent wrinkle charm on all his clothes or hexing his hair off. Well, she'd store those two away for use another time. He was so vain. Come to think of it, it might be fun to stage an updated version of that old fairy tale, The Emporer's New Clothes, sometime without anyone's knowledge.

She'd almost reached the bottom of the flight of stairs that swept down to the impressive reception hall when the doors to the Salon were thrust open and Draco strode out, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw her.

For a moment neither of them moved. Hermione could see the fury in Draco's eyes, and a premature glimmer of triumph shot through her.

Seeing the angry emotions roll over his face was like watching a storm approach, Hermione acknowledged. She felt that same tense threat of danger; it was not a question of if but when it all broke through. A fine shiver rolled over her skin, the fine hairs lifting at the back of her neck and along her arms.

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

The tone of his question was so heavy that it immediately increased the tension by several degrees.

"Excuse me?" Hermione feigned innocent ignorance, which was ruined by the preparedness to do battle shining in her eyes.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Draco snapped grimly. "Your clothes –"

Hermione stopped him evenly. "These are my clothes, Draco," she swept her hand in front of herself. "And this is me. I don't intend to change either. Take me or leave me. It was your choice to blackmail me into this abhorrent engagement and marriage, but how I think, behave and dress is _my_ choice!"

She watched his mouth compress into a line so thin his lips appeared to be a single white stripe.

"You forget, I was there for the Yule Ball, I have seen the photographs of you from formal functions given by one of your endless causes or by the Ministry. There are professional photographs accompanying your articles. And I know perfectly well that this is not how you normally appear. Your hair…"

Hermione frowned. He knew of her work? Had _seen _it? Some unwanted and dangerous emotion was beginning to flower into painful life inside of her. Fiercely she uprooted it.

"Not to your liking?" She sent him a challenging look. "It's the latest thing, I assure you."

"It looks as if you got into a fight with a pot of glue and came out second-best." Draco told her uncompromisingly. "And you certainly can't appear in front in public like that. The people would be insulted… offended…"

"Draco… What are you doing? Draco, let go of me!" Hermione demanded when he suddenly strode forward and took hold of her arm and, for the second time in as many days, dragged her away.

"If you don't stop struggling I shall stun you and carry you bodily, Hermione," her warned her, as he almost marched her up the stairs.

Hermione stiffened, "You –"

You _wouldn't_ _dare_, she had been about to say, but the look he was giving her made her swallow the challenge unspoken.

By the time they reached her suites, Hermione was flushed and out of breath. She noted with a touch of resentment that Draco was still calm and collected. Thrusting open the door, he pushed her inside and, gripping her arm, slammed and locked the door behind him.

"You are pushing my limits, Hermione," he told her, still tight-lipped.

"That's your problem. I don't –"

Hermione was suddenly yanked almost off her feet and into his arms. His mouth covered hers, smothering her furious tirade. He kissed her with an almost savage ferocity.

As in any form of confrontation Hermione's instincts kicked in. She could feel her heart racing, thudding as adrenaline pumped through her entire body. She was definitely in fight mode. This was like no other kiss she had ever experienced, Hermione realised as they fought one another for control. Mutual resentment fuelled a passion that burned her, as much as the feel of Draco's mouth. A feeling she told herself was righteous willpower shot through her. A wild clamouring of sensation and urgency that was dangerously close to desire.

…but she did not desire Draco and of course he did not desire her.

Even so, she could feel the sudden hardening of his body as he held her against him. His body had hardened, but hers now melted and moved closer to him. Sensing the change in her posture, Draco slid one of his hands up under her shirt, pressing it flat against her spine, whilst the other languidly traced a line back and forth along her side, from the flesh of her waist to her stomach, just above the band of her jeans. The pressure of his lips on hers eased and he took her bottom lip between his, sucking lightly on it. The anger that had fuelled her reaction to his punishing kiss was transmuting into a very different kind of passion. With the anger gone, the red haze fogging her mind vanished also.

Frantically, she pulled away from him. "Have you any idea how much a despise you?" she demanded furiously.

"Oh, so that's how you Muggles show hatred, is it now? Thank goodness Potter and Weasley have wizarding blood. Think how awkward it would have been at school if they went around kissing me all the time." Draco taunted her, but she could she that his own chest was rising and falling just that little bit faster than it should have.

Not that she felt any better to realise that he had been aroused by her. What she actually felt was… disgust. Yes, disgust… and shock! Shock that she could have been weak enough to allow herself to respond to him as she did.

"You have half an hour," he informed her sharply. "Either you go and do something about your appearance or I shall do it for you. And don't make the mistake of thinking I don't mean it, Hermione. Even if I have to _Stupefy_ you I shall."

Hermione pulled away from him. His lips were smudged bright red from her lipstick; he looked ridiculous glowering down on her with his mouth stained like that. Saying nothing, she turned her back on him and made her way into the bathroom.

It would serve him right if he went all through the formal public announcement looking like a clown.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

In the bathroom Hermione stripped off her clothes and quickly cleansed off her makeup. Reapplying a small amount of eye shadow and mascara and a discreet colour of lipstick, she ignored her trembling hands. She didn't even try to get a brush through her hair until she had spelled it clean of product. Thankfully, she now also knew some spells to get it into a modicum of manageability. Once she had her hair settled back into its normal, less bushy than nature intended, curls she glanced at her watch…

Ten minutes… it would take her ten minutes to get dressed in her robes, and then…

Her robes…

Hermione froze as she realised that her robes were still in the wardrobe. She nervously chewed on the inside of her lip. Finally, grabbing a towel, she wrapped it round herself and unlocked the bathroom door, poking her head through the gap.

Draco was leaning against the door to the suit, arms folded across his chest, mouth now free of any red smudges.

"Ready?" he demanded.

Hermione shook her head. "I need my robe."

"Where is it?"

"In the wardrobe," she replied, watching surprised as he strode over to the wardrobe, instead of telling her to come out and get it herself.

"This is it?"

Silently Hermione nodded her head, tensing slightly as he brought it to her.

"Five minutes," Draco warned her as she took it from him.

As she slipped into her robes, her hands were trembling so much that she wasted considerable time trying to fasten the tiny hook and eye catches. _Why on earth was she feeling so quivery and nervous?_

"Time's up."

Hermione shifted uneasily as Draco yanked open the bathroom door and surveyed her in silence.

"I hadn't expected on staying, so it's either this or the jeans," Hermione warned him as she stepped past.

"Just a minute…"

She watched him warily; an icy surge of emotion swept over her as he removed a leather jewellery box from his pocket.

You're going to need this," he told her unemotionally.

Hermione knew what the box would reveal. She could still remember the first time Draco had shown her the traditional Malfoy betrothal ring.

Then she had admired in wide eyed awe as she stared at the huge emerald surrounded by glittering diamonds and yellow sapphires, thinking she had never seen such a beautiful and awe-inspiring ring. Then, though, she had been barely out of her teens, imagining how it must feel to have a man proclaiming to the world his love and commitment, symbolised by that ring.

Now, she saw the ring in a very different light. The coldness of the marriage Draco was forcing on her matched the icy brilliance of the diamonds, the pale imitation of love and affection echoed in the muted, almost colourless quality of the sapphires. Just as the ring's ostentatious weight matched the burden she was under.

"You're trembling."

The mocking words needled her thourougly.

"With indignation. What you're doing is despicable!"

"No. I'm simply doing what I must, for the benefit of my country and its people," Draco told her resignedly. "But then you were also too… emotional to recognise that sometimes one has to put duty above one's desires."

He took her hand, while Hermione was still frowning over the meaning behind his words. Holding her hand firmly in his own, Draco slipped the large ring onto her third finger of her left hand. Disturbingly, the ring fit her perfectly. Hermione looked up at Draco, there was a moment when they just stood there, him still holding her hand, her brown eyes glinting suspiciously. She opened her mouth to say something–

"It's twelve o'clock," he announced suddenly.

Draco tucked her arm through his, making Hermione more conscious of the heavy ring shining in the afternoon sun. Holding her in a manner that was both regal and proprietorial he led her out of her room and down the stairs. He stopped, seeming to steel himself momentarily before guiding her out into the combined brilliance of sunshine and the flash of cameras that awaited them.


	8. It's Good at the Top

_Disclaimer: As for those rumours that I own Harry Potter, false I am afraid. That would be JKR and several rich multi-national companies. The plot is thanks to Penny Jordan._

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Hermione looked down from the high balcony on to the public square where a large crowd was gathered in anticipation of the official announcement of the Prince's engagement. People were clapping and cheering. It was a decidedly surreal experience, and Hermione was beginning to feel like an impostor in some twisted fairytale. She was no princess stuck in a lofty tower, nor was she the dirt-poor but beautiful maiden waiting to be rescued; she was simply average and boring and middle-class in almost every way.

It didn't matter, she reminded herself, the crowd would have clapped and cheered for almost anyone. Draco had said that the people didn't care who he married, just so long as he did marry. The people in the square were all celebrating _Draco's_ engagement… at least, most of them were.

Towards the back of the crowds an angry band of protestors were being contained by the police. Occasionally a snatch of their chanting slogans could be heard above the general noise of the celebrating assembly and the banners declaring that they wanted transparency of government and increased association with the outside world could be seen waving over the waving crowd and photographers' flashes.

All through the long announcement, Hermione's tried to focus on the crowd rather than the flowery speeches. Thanking her lucky stars she could hide her emotions better than Harry she managed to keep up the charade of loving bliss, or at the very least, she presented the appearance of not plotting to rip out her fiancé's throat, or curse him with an archaic flesh-eating spell or poison him with any amount of painful but untraceable potions or just plain hex him into oblivion...

It took the fanfare of trumpets to bring her attention back to the balcony and, in particular, to the man standing next to her. Hermione was nonetheless unprepared when in a calculated move Draco turned to her and gave her a seemingly spontaneous kiss on the lips. The noise the crowd was making amplified considerably and the cameras went into overdrive. All through it Hermione felt like she wanted to throw herself down and start punching and kicking the ground like a child having a temper tantrum. Fitting behaviour for the Prince's consort, she was sure.

Mercifully, it was over quickly. Draco's lips now moved to just above her ear, no doubt it looked as if he were whispering sweet-nothings.

"Now we must walk in the square so that the people can share our happiness and congratulate us in person. It symbolises that even though Malfoys are royalty we are not so removed from the general populace."

Hermione just ached to make a sarcastic retort; it would have been _soooooo_ easy, he really had walked into that one. But she could feel his silent warning as his fingers dug into her upper arm as a truly ancient looking man approached them and stopped in front of Draco with a perfunctory bow.

"Highness, it is advisable for you to return inside," advised the stern looking man. "I must advocate that the agitators who spoil this most celebrated occasion by persisting with their ridiculous claims are punished swiftly and firmly. You know my views."

"As you, Gerard, know mine," Draco returned calmly, his tone light enough to lessen to sternness of his rebuke. "I appreciate your concern and your advice, of course, but the people have a right to express their feelings."

"Your father would have never tolerated such an insurgency. If they carry on like this everything your ancestors strived to achieve for this country will be destroyed. Without the separation of Muggle from Magical–"

The man's expression did not change, but his narrowed eyes flicked quickly to Hermione and he stood straighter, turning his body more towards Draco so that his back was almost to her. Draco still had his fingers curled around Hermione's arm, and she felt their grip tighten briefly in reaction to the older man's outburst – _or was it in reaction to his snubbing of her?_ But she noticed that Draco's expression remained calm and unreadable.

"I respect everything that my forebears did, Gerard, of course. But times have changed, even in the wizarding world, and we must change with them... we will discuss this later."

For a moment Hermione thought the elderly man would renew his objections. She could see from the heat rising in his thin cheeks that he wanted to do so, but obviously he did not wish to argue with the Prince.

"Very well! It is your prerogative to make such a decision. You are the ruler of Cythera."

"Indeed." Draco agreed gently.

"At least let me have the louder ones removed from the square."

Draco shook his head. "Leave them be, Gerard. They have a right to their views, and they must be allowed to express them."

Hermione admitted that Draco's apparent tolerance of the protestors had surprised her. Was it a genuine willingness to consider their concerns, or simply a pragmatic tactical ploy… like their marriage?

"Now, we really must tour the square and accept the people's felicitations."

The elderly man obviously knew he was being dismissed. He nodded, a slightly constipated look on his wrinkled face, and allowed Draco and Hermione to move past.

"Sometimes hierarchy is a good thing," Draco dead-panned once they were out of earshot.

"It must be so easy to say that from the top looking down!"

He merely raised one fair eyebrow, before turning to lead Hermione into the square.

"Stop being so perverse. And for heaven's sake, smile – we're supposed to be happily in love and your face has been contorted in a pained grimace for most of this morning."

Ok, maybe she wasn't all that good as concealing her emotions… better than Harry, even so.

As they entered the sunlight dappled square the wild cheering increased exponentially; Hermione couldn't hear anything above the buzz of the excited crowd. Carefully placed barricades kept people back from the castle gates and stopped the large crowds from clogging the square entirely.

Despite her intent on continuing to stew in her malcontent and dream up new and wonderful ways to exact her revenge, Hermione could not help but be affected by the crowd's euphoria. Surreal it may have been, but such a public outpouring of happiness and delight did wonders to restore her good spirits. It reminded her of the first few weeks of celebration after the war; by now she could remember that exultant, joyous time removed from the more tragic events before it…

Hermione found herself smiling genuinely and her eyes sparkled with emotional tears as people stretched out their hands to offer flowers or make the briefest of contact. Rosy-cheeked children squealed and clapped in excitement, pressing themselves up against the metal barriers while more subdued and serious old men and women with wizened smiles watched as the royal couple walked by.

Hermione stopped to accept a small, slightly wilted daisy from a young boy blushing bright red. She grinned and ruffled the cherubic toddler's hair, looking up to the woman holding the boy on her hip. The woman bowed her head. "Merlin bless this union", she said serenely, somehow managing to make herself heard above the crowd, "and may He give you strong sons and beautiful daughters". As if that hadn't been embarrassing enough, a young man next to her grinned and yelled over the crowd, "that's her husband's job, more likely!"

Hermione was positive she was the one blushing now. But Draco had just been needling her when he mentioned that thing about heirs, right? She would not look at him… she would not… she absolutely refused to even look out of the corner of her eyes from under her lashes… _Damn him!_ The jerk was grinning.

He bent down to whisper in her ear, causing the camera flashes to go berserk again. Talk about photo opportunities!

"The good looks will be from my side of the family, naturally…"

Well, two could play at that game. She raised herself and pretended to give him a kiss on the cheek.

More camera flashes.

"And the human decency, from mine."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

What were all these people doing in here? Hermione frowned as she looked round her bedroom. She had just come in out of the square and all she really wanted to do was lie down. It was so tiring being in the public eye, especially when she had to keep up a role she wasn't hugely comfortable with the entire time. She really didn't have the energy or patience to contend with the numerous persons swarming around her room like little buzzy bees. She couldn't even get to her bed to flop down on the mattress; besides the multiple bodies racing around, her bed, the chairs and even the floor itself was covered by cases, boxes and bags.

Hermione turned to Chloe, the only familiar face out of the mass of hovering servants.

"What on earth is going on here?" she exclaimed, bewildered.

"There is much excitement in the palace now there is a new princess…" the maid sighed happily.

"Who are all these people? What is all this… stuff?"

Chloe watched the activity with just a little awe, "It is the orders of his Highness," she explained in low tones. "He insisted on furnishing you with a new wardrobe, and sent help to assist you in dressing."

"He did, did he now?" Hermione responded, an angry gleam in her eye.

Why did Draco have to be so overbearing? Sure, she hadn't dressed appropriately that morning, but she was trying to prove a point and he knew well enough that it was just an attempt to unsettle him. She did not require assistance getting ready. Moreover, she did not want to accept any 'gifts' from him. Hermione felt morally compromised enough simply by participating in this farcical engagement to save her reputation, she did not want to be bought as well. If she needed new clothes she was perfectly capable of deciding so herself and choosing and paying for them.

Hermione started to gather up some of the bags from the nearest chair and sat wearily down after she had cleared the seat.

"All this can be taken back," Hermione gestured to the mess of clothes and makeup, "and please dismiss the… rest of the people."

"But you cannot mean that. The Prince has commanded this himself."

Hermione's lips thinned.

"Draco, his Highness, may command his subjects and his staff, he may _think_ that he commands the earth, the heavens and the movements of the tides, but I mean to make it clear that he does not now, nor will he ever, command me."

Chloe's face crumpled in bewildered disappointment.

"And anyway I have a perfectly appropriate set of dress robes… I'll just wear the one I had on this morning."

"But tonight you are to attend a party held by Mr Lucas Bonython and you can't wear the same set of robes! It simply isn't done! All the other ladies will be in very beautiful clothes. You are to be the wife of his Highness and it is not fitting that they should look more elegant than you."

"I'm not the Prince's wife just yet..."

With a theatrical flourish the maid stalked over to the dressing room, her arms full of the tailored dress robes Hermione had dumped on the floor. Hermione wondered if it reflected badly on her that she couldn't even get her personal servant to follow her wishes. She could hear Chloe sighing in delight as she began to hang the clothes up in the wardrobe. Merlin, it was like sharing a dorm with Lavender and Parvati again. Grouchily, she waved away the woman who had timidly approached her with a manicure kit and huffed in displeasure.

"Oh. This is just getting beyond ridiculous."

What did it matter if she wore the same set of robes to two different occasions? Her robes were fine. They were practical, versatile … _functional_. Anyway, she had a whole closet full of clothes back at home. Hermione huffed again and scowled, scaring away another of the stylists or makeup artists or whatever they were. She had a lot of things back home; a job, a cat, a comfortable flat (the unpaid bills she could ignore for now), three new books she hadn't had a chance to read yet, best friends…

Hermione thought she'd give anything to talk to Ron and Harry about her predicament with Malfoy. If only because they'd call him some rather objectible (although not undeserved) names and then rush out and _Avada_ him. Well, perhaps they'd run off and _Avada_ him first of all, and then start with the name calling, but that was neither here nor there…

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as her bedroom door was suddenly thrust open. _Merlin, couldn't she finish just one 'Draco dies horribly and Hermione lives happily ever after' daydream without _something_ intruding?_ A tall, forbidding-looking woman entered her room flanked by a pair of nervously hovering attendants.

Narcissa!

Refusing to be intimidated by the woman's malicious glare or frigid demeanour, Hermione stood up from her chair, lifted her chin and met the older woman's haughty gaze with a calm look of her own.

A small frown and a momentary glance was all it took for Narcissa to freeze all of the inane chatter and fix the milling servants to the spot in petrified apprehension. _The woman really should have been born a basilisk…_

"Leave," Narcissa commanded them icily, then turned to wave her own attendants out of the room along with the maid.

Narcissa spat out a quick _muffliato_ as soon as the door was clicked closed. Hermione was beginning to feel slightly apprehensive now all the potential witnesses had disappeared from the scene.

"So. It is true! You have the effrontery to come back to Cythera and, even worse, you have somehow persuaded my son to agree to this farce of an engagement. It is just as well that I decided to return earlier than planned. Draco is to marry Pansy –"

"I'm afraid that Draco cannot marry Pansy, unless you propose that she commits bigamy," Hermione told her serenely. "You see, Pansy is now married to my friend, Ronald Weasley."

Oh, the pleasure of seeing Narcissa's expression – she had a chance to witness it after all!

"Marry… Weasley?"

The older woman's face held shock, disbelief and fury, all of the emotions vied for supremacy. However, none of them came anywhere near competing with the bitterness and obvious loathing Narcissa directed purely at Hermione.

"You're lying, you manipulative little harlot! I cannot understand how you have managed to persuade him to announce his betrothal to you so quickly, but I promise you I mean to find out…"

Hermione gave a dismissive shrug and completely ignored Narcissa's vicious statement. She knew nothing would irritate the other woman more than being disregarded.

"You know, I'm not surprised that Pansy felt unable to tell you her wedding plans personally. I do believe that with Ron she feels for the first time that she is properly loved. It's not hard to see how one could feel the lack of such an emotion here. You have never seen her for herself, have you? To you she was only ever a pawn that you could manipulate and dictate; a tool, through which you could control and dominate your son. Well, it's too late, Pansy is married to Ron and, as you can see, I am here."

"You do not need to tell me why you are here," Narcissa hissed contemptuously. "You have deceived your way into Draco's life a second time. I would not put it past you to have deliberately persuaded poor naïve Pansy to become involved with your wretched friend just so you could steal the place that rightfully belongs to her. It won't work. I will personally see to it that it does not!"

Hermione said nothing. Let Narcissa find out, far from forcing Draco into an engagement, he was the one who had forced the relationship on her!

"You are not fit to hold so high a position, for obvious reasons. You do not begin to have the faintest idea of how to conduct yourself properly. Just look at you – the way you are dressed. Never would I have permitted Pansy to wear such Muggle clothes, jeans…"

Hermione had very nearly reached her temper's breaking point, but it was her pride that stung the most from the regal woman's contemptuous words. So Narcissa didn't think that Hermione was fit to marry her precious son; that she knew how to conduct herself for such a role; how to dress herself for the position… _Why on earth was everyone focusing on her choice of clothing all of a sudden?_ Well, she would show Narcissa just how very wrong she was about that.

"And what are all these?" Narcissa demanded, glaring at the general chaos of clothing, hangers, boxes and bags.

"My new clothes," Hermione informed her with a great deal more glee than she would ever feel over a few scant pieces of material. "Draco bought them for me."

Narcissa's face tightened with anger. "I see! You have not lost any time in persuading Draco to waste his money on you! How long have you been in Cythera, one day… two?"

"As you have only just pointed out yourself, I am the Prince's fiancée and must present an appropriate image. Naturally, I don't want to let my darling Draco down …"

To further annoy Narcissa she found herself pouting and tossing her head as she looked over to the clothing draped on her bed. Giving a good impression of her image-crazy dorm-mates from school, Hermione cast a lingering look at the collection of clothes that she had previously rejected. She swanned over to the bed and picked up a dress indiscriminately, holding it up, running her hand over the soft fabric.

"I just hope Draco has remembered that I don't have any proper jewellery. After all, when we attend this soiree tonight it is only fitting that I should be the finest there," she muttered just loud enough for Narcissa to hear. Turning quickly, Hermione forced a coy smile. "I simply can't wait for us to be married. Our wedding is to take place at the end of the month..." She thoughtfully tapped her lip, "I've heard that the crown jewels are especially grand."

Narcissa's face had turned an unpleasant mottled shade of purple.

"You will never marry my son," she intoned softly. "I shall make sure of that…"

Before Hermione had the chance to react Narcissa had brought her wand up and, after a second of hesitation, spoke a word that Hermione couldn't make out. She honestly thought, for a long moment, that it was the end; she had pushed Narcissa too far. But then no green light emitted from the wand and Hermione only felt a sharp pricking sensation, and brought her hand up to cover the now throbbing red lump that had formed on her neck.

Hermione winced as she heard the door slam behind Narcissa. She had truly burned her boats now. She counted herself lucky the enraged woman had only fired off a stinging hex, nothing more than a mild inconvenience, really. Hermione had faced Bellatrix after all, and had braced herself for much worse than a simple spell. She had no idea how she had gotten off with something so trivial and could only assume that the sister and wife of two of Voldemort's most notorious Death Eaters was saving the best for later. Hermione would have to keep one eye trained on her back from now on…

As she made her way over to the door, Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced. She looked dreadful. Her hair was frizzed up like Crookshanks on a bad day, her face was wan, the only colour from patchy red blotches of high emotion on her cheeks and she felt, and looked, totally drained after a sleepless night and a long, conflict-charged day. And then there was that obnoxious welt on her throat from Narcisa's hex.

Sighing, she opened the door wide and ushered in a curious Chloe and the confused maids.

"Alright. I need help getting prepared for this party-thing tonight," Hermione spoke resignedly, "I put myself completely at your mercy. I'll wear anything you put in front of me… so long as it has a high neckline."

It seemed that Draco had once again got his way.


	9. Woman in Scarlet

Hermione sat before her mirror as one of the maids pulled a brush through her thick hair and another fired of charms and spells to get it to sit just right

Hermione sat staring unseeing into the mirror as Vivian, one of the maids, pulled a brush through her thick hair and another, Clara, fired off a series of charms and spells to get it to sit just right. The mirror had been oddly silent throughout the whole ordeal, it had hummed in consideration a few times but otherwise seemed to be reserving it's opinion until the final result, and at that moment she was entirely grateful for small mercies.

She had realised almost immediately that she had been too hasty in control of her wardrobe over to the excitable women. Hermione had squirmed uncomfortably as the women paraded dresses out for her perusal. From those few dresses it had been obvious that there was a profound difference of opinion as to what constituted a 'high neckline'. Furthermore, her directions had obviously been to imprecise because they had sneakily gotten around her request for a modest neckline by choosing dresses with quite daring hem lines.

_Honestly, was she cursed to forever be surrounded by people of Slytherin__-esque cunning_?

The short dresses had been politely, but firmly declined, and Hermione had given slightly more detailed instructions of exactly what she required. Instructions to which she was forced to add further specifications numerous times after the maids returned with gowns with high slits in the skirt, which bared her back, or were made of thin, gauzy, almost sheer material. At that point, she had decided the women were being deliberately obtuse.

Eventually they all found a grudging compromise by settling on a rather modestly cut gown, with a high keyhole neckline in a very provocative shade of red. That had been her sole concession to their deviousness. More truthfully, the women had flat out refused to allow Hermione out of the room in the all-encompassing fawn dress she had preferred; Chloe even went so far as to threaten to unravel all the seams and vanish integral parts of the "brown potato sack" should Hermione put up further argument. And, really she didn't want anyone to lose their jobs after an abduction over something as trivial as a dress… it was just that she couldn't help remembering Ron's reference to her being a "scarlet woman". Yes, it had seemed funny at the time, but now…

In spite of her delight at seeing the maids exercise a certain level of self-will, Hermione worried that there was some key character flaw on her own part due to the fact that the women Narcissa so easily commanded openly flouted her simple instructions. Although she would be pained to admit it, she had enjoyed herself teasing and gossiping with the women – even if they did have a propensity to take the issue of clothing slightly too seriously.

Hermione blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her sight and looked into the mirror as the women stood back to admire their handiwork. Luckily she hadn't had to fight them on the issue of makeup and hair; the mock battle over clothing had been fun in an exasperating way, but Hermione was too tired to good-naturedly squabble over absolutely every aspect of her appearance. She had to admit they had done a fantastic job of hiding dark under-eye circles and putting some healthy colour back into her cheeks. Her hair had been brushed until it shone and then arranged to fall down her back in carefully shaped curls. The artful simplicity of both her hair and cosmetics belied the actual time and skill it took to create such an captivating illusion.

"Thank you, you've all done a wonderful job."

Chloe smiled and demured, "It is our pleasure. You gave us much to work with."

Draco had sent her a message earlier to inform her that they would join some of the court advisors for formal drinks before leaving for Luc's party. Gathering a light robe to wear over her dress, Hermione reassured the women that she remembered the spell they had insisted on teaching her to refresh her appearance and renew her makeup. And, yes, she promised to use it halfway through the night.

She glanced at the clock. Her smile dimmed just slightly. It was time.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Hermione's first public appearance that afternoon had been met with loud cheering which erupted the moment she and Draco emerged onto the balcony. In direct contrast this time, as her presence was announced by a liveried footman, a strange hush fell over the room. The silence was so unnatural and all attention immediately focused on her that it reminded her oddly enough of the Yule Ball. Except where that silence had conveyed awe and amazement this stillness, while not exactly hostile, was definitely unwelcoming. In this room she felt like an interloper, uncomfortable and incredibly self-conscious. Her eyes quickly swept over the milling people, only consciously noticing two people despite the small crowd gathered around the room.

Narcissa was positioned on one side of the room, wearing a heavily embroidered formal gown and jewellery that had no doubt cost enough to feed entire countries for a week. Draco was standing in the other corner, engaged in conversation with a serious-looking older woman. She could see him clearly, standing tall, his blonde hair shining like a beacon above the gathering from across the room. This evening he looked particularly striking, his dark robes elegantly cut to emphasise his broad shoulders and long limbs. He had always been attractive, Hermione acknowledged wryly, it was such a pity that he was also arrogant and mean-spirited.

She felt his eyes on her for the briefest of moments, but when Hermione looked towards him he was still talking to the severe-faced woman. She found it disconcerting how she was able to recognise his gaze momentarily touching on her in when everyone in the room had been looking her way. Hermione remained in the doorway and continued to watch Draco. He stood intensely still, seemingly concentrated on the conversation, but if Hermione wasn't mistaken he was already beginning to feel restless. His impatience was not manifested, as it was for some, by restless activity but rather through the intense expression on his face and the aura of frustration and impatience he projected. She was half-disappointed when his eyes did not flicker over to her again. Realising that she could not spend the entire night tucked away in a corner, spying on her fake fiancée, Hermione grabbed a glass of wine off a passing tray to bolster her courage and decided to mingle instead.

Until Harry and Ron had befriended her, Hermione had had few very close friendships. It was not that she was unfriendly or lacking in social skills, she had simply opinionated and forceful from a young age and that had intimidated children her own age. She had also had very clear ideas about the appropriate time and place for socialisation – not in the classroom or library and _not_ when she was trying to do her homework. At Hogwarts she had more important things to worry about than inane chatter, and if she prided herself on her success of her schoolwork at the expense of her popularity then so be it. Despite complaints from those in her year that she could be antisocial and dogmatic Hermione prided herself on her adeptness at polite small-talk and ability to converse with almost anyone in any situation.

This was proving to be the exception to that rule. All the conversations she attempted to join seemed to focus on topics concerning the preservation of Wizarding culture and ancient bloodlines or, even worse, Quidditch. To her extreme annoyance, everyone managed to talk over her when she attempted to change the subject. Eventually Hermione took the rather unsubtle hint that she was not welcome.

Hermione was nothing if not a pragmatist. She realised that she was out of her depth in this particular context. There had been one person who she had been studiously avoiding who could help her; Draco. By this point she had circulated around most of the room, excepting the area in which Narcissa seemed to be holding court. She simply did not have the energy for any more conflict, open or veiled. Strange that in a room filled with people, she would find his company the least abrasive.

To be fair, she had found one friendly individual who was a decent conversationalist to boot in a white-haired, long nosed grandfatherly looking wizard bent almost double with age. But after he told a particularly offensive joke involving a house-elf, a trick wand and a blast-ended skrewt she had quickly made her excuses. Senility was no excuse for vulgarity.

Her uncertainty increased as she approached him. Hesitating just within Draco's field of vision, feeling immensely unsure of herself, Hermione wavered in her decision. _Perhaps she should just turn around and go back to her room? She shouldn't have had that extra glass of wine. She could feel a migraine coming on. She had forgotten to switch off the light. She–_

Draco turned, still in conversation, and held his arm out to her.

A sudden movement on the other side of the room caught her eye. She suppressed her urge to recoil when she saw Narcissa's wand hand jerk violently. The reaction was purely instinctive; Hermipone knew that, as angry as she was, Narcissa would never resort to hexing a person in public. For Narcissa, image was everything. In fact, she probably would not deign to even swing the wand herself, but would rather hire someone else to do the dirty deed for her and keep her hands figuratively clean. Complicated wand movements had the habit of chipping one's nails, after all…

"Hermione…" Draco murmured as she rested her hand on the crook of his elbow, effectively ripping her attention away from Narcissa. The seductive pitch of his voice was so different to the mocking tone he had used before. Hermione did not even question that he had spoken her name for her ears alone. This time she was forced to suppress the lazy shiver that shimmered up her spine at the small smile gracing his usually rigid mouth.

The awkwardness vanished and she allowed a small sigh of relief as she came to stand next to him. There had been something profound that act; in having someone, anyone, extend that simple courtesy of including her. Some small part of her that she was not willing to acknowledge was grateful that it was he, and not one of the guests, who made that considerate movement.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Draco was quite exceedingly bored. He had been involved in repetitive and dull conversations all night, all of which seemingly amounted to nothing significant in the end. For as long as he could remember most of the social discussions he had ever had with members of the Council of Elders seemed to revolve around the sacredness of pureblood traditions. It was as if they had actually forgotten how to speak of anything else. Every now and then the subject might touch on Quidditch, as it invariably did among wizards in social gatherings, but Draco had always preferred to play Quidditch than discuss it.

He genuinely mourned the lack of good conversationalists on the Council. Social events such as this were dominated by talk that was not so much a discussion, as is was an extended diatribe that only required their audience to nod their head in agreement at irregular intervals. These men were so self-important and so enamored with their ideas and the sound their own voices that over time they had been rendered incapable of polite conversation. Communication only took place in long, rambling monologues. Even with the Prince. Draco always found it amusingly ironic to listen to one of their lectures about the youth of today's lack of respect for authority and established hierarchies and never be able to get a word in edge-wise. But the unintentional irony was really the only form entertainment these men provided.

Draco agreed to an extent that it was important to maintain traditions, but he had risen above his elitist ideas some time ago. About the same time he and Hermione Granger had formed that tentative friendship. But whereas she had left, her influence and his new ideals had remained. Draco recognised that change was vital to society. It just so happened that his current idea of change was not the kind of 'enslave all half-bloods and muggleborns' philosophy his father had advocated. In Draco's opinion, all this talk about purity of bloodlines and pure Wizardry was stagnation more than preservation. He didn't think the geriatrics on the Council would appreciate it if he confided that he had been more sympathetic to their beliefs at the age of eleven than he was a twenty-seven. Certainly, Draco's current ideas would not be popular in this room. They were too much of a threat to the sacred sense of status quo that these men found so all-important and comforting.

In fact, the sole highlight of the night had been the five minutes he had managed to steal with Uncle Linus before his attention was demanded by someone else. The crooked old man was always good for a ribald story or two.

That had been until Hermione approached him.

_Merlin, she looked beautiful._

She had stood off from the small group he was currently engaged in conversation with, just within his range of vision. Even out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was radiant. _Obviously, time away from him had agreed with her._ Draco had noted how stunning she looked when she had first made her entrance; in that dress, modestly cut but in the most striking shade of red, her hair loose around her shoulders. He had not, however, noticed that the entire room had also turned to watch the newcomer, or how the room which had buzzed with voices shortly beforehand was rendered eerily quiet. He only noticed her – _Hermione_. Her cruel abandonment had shown him her character flaws, but tonight he was hard pressed to find any fault in her appearance. He would have preferred to continue to watch her unnoticed, but he was soon pulled back into some spectacularly witless conversation. He had feared that he would spend the entire night, so engaged.

But then there she was. Standing a short way off, looking so charmingly uncertain. Hermione nearly never looked indecisive. She was self-assured and determined and she carried that in almost every aspect of her bearing. It was one of the things that Draco admired in her. She did not fawn over him and cling. She was beautiful and intelligent and strong and a long time ago he had very nearly fallen in love with her… But as much as he admired her strength, for a very long time he had equally resented it because it meant that she did not need _him_. Draco wanted to be needed. He had hated the fact that she made him need her and then vanished.

Now, seeing her hesitant, unsure and so obviously waiting for him to allow her in, she was rendered all the more beautiful. Because she needed him. Just for this one moment, this one social situation, Hermione Granger was out of her element and had sought him, Draco Malfoy, out. He was gratified that _she_ had come to _him_.

So he gestured to her to join him, she had rested her hand on the inside of his arm and he had smiled to himself. And then, almost unwittingly, because it felt so right at that moment, he had whispered her name. His voice was low and hushed, as it would be discussing something extremely sacred, and he was not even sure she had heard him, but he thought he felt her fingers tremble slightly on his arm. For that one moment He forgot that he hated her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Later that night, Hermione had to marvel at the level of civility she and Draco had managed to maintain. They had stood side by side in close proximity with neither of them making any malicious comments or inflicting any physical pain on the other for the prolonged period of time the formal introductions had taken. It was truly amazing that they could put on such a convincing act of equanimity in public while in private barely a civil word passed between them. In fact, it had been almost _comfortable_.

It was still exhausting for Hermione playing the part of devoted lover, a role that she was fairly inexperienced at portraying. Luckily, the need to act was almost over; for this gathering at least, they still had Luc's party to attend. They had officially been met and greeted as a couple by almost everyone in the room. The long line of people, most of whose names and faces she had already forgotten, had filed past. From the looks on their faces, the majority of the guests felt genuine physical pain in having to bow and curtsy to _her_ as good manners dictated. She couldn't work out if she was more amused or insulted. Mostly, it just made her nervous.

The majority of the guests were a part of the Council of the Elders of the Court; men who had been contemporaries of Lucius, and even Draco's grandfather. They may have been a generation of two older than she, but in Hermione's opinion (which she was gratified to see, was reflected in some of the general populace if that afternoon's protest was anything to go by) their thinking was stuck somewhere in the 1600s.

For the most part they were rigid, commanding gentlemen in terms of personality as well as posture. Their wives were cut from two moulds; the first strangely reminded Hermione of Minerva McGonagall, elderly and strict, while the second were more in the style of Hannah Abbot, young, pretty but mostly fluff and air.

There were a few younger faces that had not come attached to the arm of an elderly gent, but they were in the minority and for the large part remained separate from the Elders.

They had reached the end of the introduction line. Or almost…

"Draco!" A familiar, and not entirely welcome, voice rang out.

"Mother!" Draco laughed, "Surely a woman who needs no introduction?"

Narcissa smiled indulgently. "Well… engaged to be married! I must say this is a surprise. I was only away from home on a short holiday, hardly a week... and look at the news that greets me on my return. Out with the old, in with the new, is it? You naughty boy you, what else have you been hiding from me?"

Her smile dimmed just slightly as her eyes flicked to land on Hermione. "Or is it your new fiancée I should be blaming for stealing you away from me?" Narcissa laughed brightly, linking her arm through Draco's.

Hermione could see where Draco had got his genes for deception. She was a remarkable actress.

Ignoring Narcissa's veiled taunt, Hermione held herself stiffly beside Draco. She could not compete with Narcissa's theatrics, nor did she feel the need to. Draco looked quizzically from his mother to Hermione, both their faces smooth and mask-like, betraying nothing as they held eye contact. Hermione just desperately wanted out of this awkward situation. Her palms had started sweating the moment Narcissa approached them and she removed her hand from his arm to surreptitiously wipe her wet palms on her robe.

Narcissa took this small movement as Hermione relinquishing her hold on Draco and a cue to guide her son away in to a private corner of the room. Undoubtedly, she would chalk this up to a win for herself against Hermione, having managed to separate Draco from his fiancée. Hermione could hear the woman's voice over the polite chatter, but could not catch the words. She half-wondered whether Narcissa would broach the topic of the engagement again, or if Draco's mother would wait until she better knew the lay of the land.

Completely alone again and realising how pitiable she appeared gazing after Draco giving every appearance of having been abandoned, Hermione went off in search of Mr. Teller-of-Inappropriate-Jokes. At least he didn't shudder at the sight of her…

* * *

_A/N:__ This is a little rushed, so may not be up to my usual 'standard', if you can call it that._

_The War of the Hemline (as it shall henceforth be referred) is courtesy of __**Silent-Serpent**__, who is lovely and devious and I must give my thanks for sharing such lovely deviousness with me. Slytherin, indeed!_

_Thank you to both readers and reviewers. But especially reviewers._


	10. Mr Sandman, Bring Me a Dream

_Disclaimer: Characters by JK Rowling, Plot by Penny Jordan, Chapter Title not so witty reference to Pat Ballard's song _Mr. Sandman _sung by The Chordettes.  
_

* * *

Her head felt heavy and it was an effort just keeping her eyes open. Hermione was practically dead on her feet (and she would have looked it too, without that refreshing cosmetic charm) and the night wasn't over by a long shot. Alcohol always did make her feel sleepy, and the three glasses of wine she had earlier that evening only added to her general state of lassitude. She had tried to beg off this last social engagement claiming that she was practically asleep on her feet, but Draco had insisted they both attend his cousin's party – together.

You had to pick your fights, and this was one she did not have the energy or mental faculties to win. Hermione had just nodded wearily and hoped that she would not disgrace herself by snoring when she fell asleep standing up.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The day had been a long one and neither of them were in the best of moods at the end of it. Hermione was shooting him angry glares from her position across from him in the carriage driving them to Luc's party. Despite his irritability (he was always somewhat irritable after conversations with his mother) Draco found her behaviour amusing more than anything else. He was however careful to keep his expression blank, after all the surest way to destroy the night's continued peace was for Hermione to discover the degree of amusement her sulk was providing him.

Sitting with her arms crossed, a small scowl contorting her features and her bottom lip stuck out in a childish pout, she really didn't look much older than a toddler; a particularly tired and cranky toddler. Indeed, her indignant frown was soon spoiled by a large yawn, which caused her to close her eyes and scrunch her nose up as her mouth opened wide.

Draco knew that Hermione was tired. _He_ was tired, and he would have bet anything that she was less accustomed to a busy social schedule than he. Unfortunately, they still had commitments, so bed for the both of them would have to wait.

No sooner had Hermione composed her face back into a dark expression and set her intense stare directly at him once more than her focus was again destroyed by long yawn right on the back of the first. As hard as he fought to suppress his response, Draco found his body mimicking Hermione's display of exhaustion, cursing the contagious nature of the act… She gave another yawn in answer… And then he followed suit...

It looked to be a long night ahead of them.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The carriage pulled to a stop, having reached the coast after a short journey from the castle. Hermione stepped down from her high seat ignoring the hand Draco offered to assist her. She knew full well the snub would irritate Draco, but she had meant to make a point of her self-sufficiency, and did not anticipate the extent that her small act of defiance would disgruntle him. Draco was already walking away from her. She realised that, having refused this gesture, his next offer of assistance would be a long time coming. Hermione was vaguely put out that he had not stayed and waited to lead her to their destination, a feeling which she realised was completely inconsistent and unproductive moreover.

_Yet s__urely he was heading in the wrong direction, away from the quay rather than towards it? Had she angered him that much? _

Looking around, she could not help the small look of confusion that registered on her face. Considering that they had arrived at the beach Hermione had assumed that the party was to be on board the yacht that Luc owned. It now appeared that this was not the case, the only boats moored along the shore being dinghies and small fishing vessels. Instead, Draco had walked over to a large, yet simple looking property and now stood watching her impatiently, leaning against the door. Rolling her eyes, she hastened to catch up with him.

Moments later they stood glaring at each other before, by some form of mutual consent, both pasting on insincere social masks. Draco knocked on the door and it swung open and Luc's smiling face emerged.

"You've made it. Everyone was beginning to wonder if you had decided to 'forget' this little get together in preference of each others' company," mistaking their less than enthused expressions for something else, Luc laughed. "Aha! So this did interrupt something?"

Opening the door wide Luc ushered them in, "Come in, come in. I'll introduce you to everyone. Besides placing bets to see when, or if, the fairytale couple would actually turn up people have been expressing their eagerness to meet you, Hermione. Naturally, I've told them all a lot about you, so you can be in charge of straightening out all those misleading rumours I started."

The wink Hermione had found endearing enough at their previous meeting now made her want to poke his darn eye out. She really must be tired.

Luc's house had looked unpretentious, even austere, from the outside but once inside the decoration changed the atmosphere completely. The rooms were still uncluttered and minimalist, but in such a way that just screamed that a large expense that had gone into making them so. Each room was painted a decidedly subdued shade with large canvases or wizard photos hung on the muted walls giving the rooms a hint of colour and life. The light wood floors were kept bare or more rarely covered by a dark carpet. The furnishings were simple, favouring unpatterned monotonous fabrics, stainless steel and severe geometric lines. It was the direct opposite of the intimidating opulence of the palace's decoration, but even so, Hermione did not feel comfortable. This house lacked the soul that made it a home. The house was so at odds with Luc's loud and cheerful personality that she wondered if he had any input in it's decoration at all.

As Luc guided them through the house, Hermione could hear the dull hum of conversation and background music increasing, and her nerves grew with the noise. She felt a tiny nervous shimmer work its way through her body. But she steeled herself just before Luc led them through to a large room filled with people; if she had survived the pompous crowd at the castle, she could easily survive this.

And Hermione did survive, although not entirely unscathed.

For a brief while she had forgotten her exhaustion as she had made the rounds with Draco, shaking hands, being introduced and making polite conversation. The guests at Luc's party were much younger and friendlier than those at the castle had been earlier that night, and the atmosphere considerably more convivial. A few looked at her suspiciously when she refused offers of alcohol due to her drowsiness and stuck to mineral water, but on the whole the company was pleasant and engaging. Hermione was having such a good time she was even well on the way to forgiving Draco for his insistence that this party was far more important than a good night's sleep.

That was until she had been introduced to Anaïs, the kind of woman Hermione was sure was put on this earth for the sole purpose of giving all other women inferiority complexes. A woman so perfect, she looked otherwordly. She had the body of a lingerie model, highlighted by the fabric of her dress which looked to be wrapped around her curves; the face of a movie star, with big almond-shaped eyes and full red lips; the kind of straight, flowing hair that Hermione could only dream of and a soft breathy voice which invited images of bedrooms and rumpled sheets. In other words, you either fell a little bit in lust with her or despised her on sight.

"Draco, _cheri_. It's been far too long."

As a Niffler, or just a particularly audacious woman, sniffing out a glittering golden ring Anaïs immediately latched onto Draco. She greeted him in the Parisian manner. Four kisses, starting on the left cheek, right cheek and repeating the action. Hermione had always thought that it seemed a bit theatrical and overdone when a simple handshake would suffice.

Draco had turned from Hermione and stared speechlessly at the beautiful woman. After several moments stretched uncomfortably, he seemed to remember himself.

"Indeed it has. Hermione, may I introduce Anaïs Legard. Anaïs, Hermione Granger."

The woman gave a short, dismissive nod in Hermione's general direction before returning her attention solely to Draco.

"How horrible it is, forced from one arranged marriage straight to another!" Her fingers slowly moved up his arm in a move that was as suggestive as it was calculated. She pouted prettily. "Now we shall hardly be able to find the time to see each other as we once did. And I had so looked forward to our… catching up."

And from the not-so-subtle signals she was giving off, it looked as if Anaïs wanted to "catch up" with him right there in the middle of the floor.

"I had always thought that royalty could do what they liked, when they liked. After all, nothing ever stopped you before." She gave a soft, husky laugh.

There was no way Hermione was mistaking the innuendo in the woman's words. She knew it was an act for her benefit; it was all so smooth and calculated it made her feel slightly ill. After her two earlier experiences with Narcissa, she had spent more than enough energy tolerating the company of manipulative women for one day. And for Draco to allow the woman to act so blatantly in a room full of people, to allow Anaïs to publicly humiliate Hermione in such a way, the dull churning in her gut turned into a seething heat of anger. If Anaïs wanted to make a claim on Draco she was welcome to him, Hermione decided. But _she_ would not be toyed with and insulted and forced to stand by tamely as the two practically had sex fully clothed in front of her.

Hermione laughed, but even to her own ears it sounded brittle and unnatural. "Oh, let me assure you, that is still well and true." She wasn't particularly skilled at social intrigue and entendre but as a parting shot Hermione supposed it would do.

She was much too tired, and now wound up, to be social as it was. So after extricating herself from the uncomfortable triangle, Hermione sought solitude down on the beach rather than rejoining the party. Better that she enjoy the beautiful night than endure any more awkward interaction.

It was certainly safer than staying and watching Anaïs and Draco drool over each other; she didn't want to slip on the floor and break her neck, although she had the feeling that neither would mourn for very long if she did.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The moon was full and round, yellow against the inky purple of the night sky. Equally dark water reflected the tiny glinting lights of stars. The evening air was still and balmy. All around her she could hear the sharp sounds of small waves slapping against the hollow hulls of small fishing boats. For all the years Hermione had spent in the wonder of the wizarding world, she still had moments when she could recognise the magic in something so mundane and ordinary. Tonight, however, most of the beauty was lost on her.

She sat on the quayside, the skirt of her dress rolled up to mid-thigh, kicking her legs over the edge, bare feet just above the water. Hermione wished she had a good rock to skip over the black waves. She was half tempted for a moment to try her luck with the large engagement ring on her finger. In the end, she decided not to. She had never been that good at skipping stones, and a gesture that symbolic deserved to be convincing. She wasn't sure she had it in her to be convincing just now. And that surprised her. She was certainly angry enough at Draco…

"You know just 10 years ago I probably would have been hung, drawn and quartered if I had dared ogle the legs of the Prince's fiancée?" Luc's voice was a gentle interruption from her melancholy as he sat down next to her.

"You probably still would be if you tried it with Narcissa."

"Ah, the old banshee. I'm not exactly popular with her as it is."

Hermione glowered, "I'm almost certain I could beat you on the unpopularity stakes. Unless you plan on stealing Draco away from _her_ by stealing him away from _me_ and then marrying him, that is." She continued bitterly.

Luc chuckled. "I think Draco's safe from my advances… No, I'd say Narcissa's more worried that I've shown up to steal the crown away from _her_ by stealing it away from _him_."

Hermione snorted inelegantly through her nose. They were silent for a time.

"Why did you run away, anyway? Last I saw, you were having an enjoyable enough time."

"That was before Draco and Anaïs' little reunion."

"Ah… well… I wouldn't worry too much about her. She's just a society bitch. Unfortunately you get them in these circles and there's not much you can do about it. She's a bit like salt damp in that way."

The silence stretched again.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Anaïs. I've seen the way Draco looks at you, and it's markedly different from the way he looks at her."

The sad thing was Luc thought he was helping with that statement. Instead, she felt a renewed desire to rip her ring off and throw it into the ocean. And this time, Hermione imagined she had the proper capacity of anger to make it a convincing action. There was a clear enough reason for that difference; Hermione was his fake fiancée, a source of continual frustration; Anaïs was his (ex? current?) lover, beautiful, alluring and uncomplicated.

_But why, if he already had a lover did he need her for a wife?_ She answered the question even as she asked it.

Because Draco liked being in control, he needed that sense of power. Anaïs may have been striking, and was no doubt a good bed partner, but she didn't look like the kind of woman who could easily be controlled. Normally Hermione would have liked to think that of herself, but there was the fact that Draco had the ability to ruin her life constantly hanging over her head. That was incentive enough to…

"You know you'll have to go back in there sooner or later?" Luc gestured to the party. "Everyone was so excited to meet you. Especially the ladies – they'd all heard rumours, from yours truly of course, about your and Draco's grand love affair and last minute engagement. I thought I'd have to get out a fainting couch; they looked like they'd swoon at the romance of it all. Mass unconsciousness at a party! Can you imagine what it would have done for my reputation?" But he was serious again. "You know, if you don't go back people will start talking… and eventually Draco will come out looking for you."

"And it would create all sorts of problems for your _reputation_ if he found you two out here alone, wouldn't it?"

Both Hermione and Luc swivelled around quickly to face Draco, who approached them without hurry. Due to the flatness of his tone it was unclear who this taunt was directed at, or even if it was joking or serious, but Hermione nonetheless felt the contradictory sinking of her stomach and rise of her temper.

Luc apparently decided to take it in a teasing light, hopping spryly to his feet. "Just protecting the jewel of the crown from things that go bump in the night," he squeezed Draco's shoulder as he moved past to make his way back to his house. "I'll make your excuses."

Draco remained standing a few paces from where Hermione sat, arms folded across his chest staring stonily at her. _Why did he have to have the advantage of position every time they had an argument?_ Hermione scrambled to her feet and met his fury head on, her high heeled shoes held by their straps in her right hand, as her left made it's way to her hip.

"So I turn my back for one minute and you're gone. Again. You haven't changed. And then I find you out here, with my cousin no less. We're about to be married and –"

"And the marriage is all a complete sham. Which was artfully demonstrated when you and that Anaïs woman inside could barely keep your dignity intact and your clothes on as you mentally, or in her case _physically_, pawed each other! You could barely take your eyes off her, 'oh it's been too long', so don't give me this pseudo-jealous act."

"The last time I saw her she had a nose the size of a bloody tin of tomatoes! So, yes, I will admit to staring… but only because I was trying to remember who the hell she was."

"Oh, so you've had so many flings you can't even remember their names now? And, what, you figured that she was wearing a name tag so staring at her breasts would jog your memory?" She accused.

Draco' voice raised with every sentence, until he was bellowing red-faced. "First, I haven't seen Anaïs in years. Second, it was never that kind of relationship. And third, I think if you'll recall correctly _she _wasthe one groping _me_, not the other way around. All of which still doesn't explain why you were out here, alone, with another man."

Hermione was desperately trying to keep her calm in the face of his overt anger. "He's your cousin, who I met one day ago! I hardly know the man. Unlike you and this woman, who clearly have a history together."

Draco, predictably, honed in on the one weakness in her argument, completely ignoring the rest of her speech. "Exactly! You hardly know the man and you're sitting out here, alone and in the dark with him. Which is not only highly suspicious, but dangerous too."

"And there was nothing suspicious about your behaviour indoors, in a room full of people?"

"I hardly said two words to her!"

"But _she_ said a lot more than that, and you made no move to stop her. I had a long day, I'm tired and worn out and you insisted on dragging me to this party. For what? So I can watch you flirt with your lovers? No… I have my pride, Draco. Not much at the moment, but it's still there. This has to be a two way street. I won't abide by having vicious women practically sexually assault you in front of me."

Draco's voice was soft, but with a mocking edge to it. "Could it possibly be that you're jealous, that all–"

"I don't want to discuss this any more…" Her eyes stung and felt hot and her breath came in shuddering gasps, which Hermione knew was a precursor to tears. She was overtired and overemotional and she didn't like her inability to think straight.

"I'm tired, this is getting us nowhere and we both stopped making sense a long time ago. I'm going back to the palace and I'm going to bed. You can come with your fake wife or go back to your 'real' magically enhanced mistress, but at the end of the day you can only choose one."

Still barefoot, she swept past him on the way back to the road and the waiting carriage they had arrived in together, not particularly caring which option he chose. For a long time, she simply sat in the buggy of the carriage and closed her eyes, willing her breath to calm and her mind to think clearly. She would order the carriage to return to the castle when she was sure her eyes were dry and her voice wouldn't shake betrayingly.

Hermione did not open her eyes when the carriage tipped slightly to one side indicating that another person had climbed in, even when it started moving up towards the castle. She allowed herself a small smile. You had to pick your fights, and this one at least she had won.

The journey back was made in complete in silence, each beyond the point of conversation and deep in their own thoughts. By the time the carriage arrived back at the castle both occupants were asleep.

* * *

_A/N: __Thanks to readers and reviewers! Last chapter was most popular yet. JOY!  
_


	11. Book Learning

_Characters by JKR, plot ala PJ.  
_

* * *

Pen and paper… Pen and paper…

The heavy curtains were drawn across the window and Hermione couldn't see anything in the darkness.

Pen and paper…

The fuzzy feeling around the edges of her mind was slowly filtering away. With the one hand she had managed to get out from under the tangle of covers Hermione clumsily felt for the items on her bedside table.

She always kept something to write on beside her when she slept, just in case she thought of something important. For some reason, if she didn't write it down her thoughts would keep her up all night. Of course, some times she would be up all night even after she wrote it down...

Hermione jerked up with a shock, groaning as she knocked something heavy off of her bedside table.

Her awareness returned full speed with the loud crash, and tinny noise of something bouncing across her floor. What had she knocked over? She couldn't see anything, the room was so dark. Where was the light switch? They were always across the other side of the room…

Wand! Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione continued to fumble in the dark. There were still days when she was more Muggle than witch…

Where was her wand?

"Lumos."

It was only after the faint glow from her wandtip bathed the room in light that she remembered why she hadn't been able to find writing tools beside her.

_Right, so… quill and parchment then._

Stumbling out of the small nest of twisted blankets she had made during the night, she padded over to the small writing desk in the corner of her room. She supposed the room was indeed hers for as long as she stayed in the palace – at least, until the wedding…

No, she didn't want to think about that.

Opening the desks small drawers, Hermione started fossicking around for a quill and parchment. Really, she should have a better look around the place if she was to be staying there indefinitely. Well, that would go on the list. But first she needed to find…

AHA! Quill and parchment.

Smiling happily Hermione pulled back her curtains, blinking rapidly at the bright morning light that streamed into the room through the large windows. She sat down at the small desk and carefully dipped her quill into the ink she had found. It wouldn't do to get messy ink spots on the parchment.

Hermione had spent the entire day before in bed. She had woken late in the day with a headache, stuffy nose and a scratchy throat and had never quite worked up the motivation to leave the warm comfort of soft mattress and downy covers. She didn't particularly want to face the outside world and the reality of what was happening when she was feeling so poorly.

Part of her couldn't help but feel ashamed that she had once faced down legions of Death Eaters but now a simple head cold coupled with the thought of Draco could have her cowering in bed with the sheets over her head. The other part of her rolled her eyes at her own melodramatics. It wasn't like that at all. This wasn't about cowardice; the constant veiled conflict was physically and emotionally draining and she needed to recuperate before she made herself even sicker constantly stressing over things.

When Chloe had come by Hermione's room in the early afternoon she had barely cracked open an eyelid and croaked out that she that she was sick, no she didn't need a healer, she simply wanted to be left alone. Oh, and would Chloe be so kind as to close the curtains and procure a headache potion? Thank you _very_ much.

Hermione spent the remainder of the day sleeping, reading and summoning tea and chocolate biscuits from the kitchens when the mood struck her; basically ignoring the world outside the walls of her room – just as she ignored the niggling degree of disappointment that Draco also stayed away from her room and didn't once think to check on her. Not that she really felt up to dealing with him at that moment in time; it was just that…

She really hated being so contradictory.

But now, after a day of complete inactivity, she had woken early. She felt decidedly better than yesterday; refreshed, healthy and slightly restless.

Hermione was, by nature, a pragmatist and generally not one for inaction. She had allowed herself a day to laze half-awake in bed alternately consumed by self-pitying thoughts and wallowing in a state of denial, pretending that nothing had changed. Now her need to take charge had got the upper hand.

There would be no more pathetic examples of self-pity or denial.

If she was going to be forced into a marriage then she would just have to make the best of a bad situation.

Of course, making the best out of a bad situation didn't mean she was going to stop trying to reason with Draco; trying to make him see what a bad idea the marriage was. After all, she had yet to stop trying to reason with Harry and Ron over countless issues and arguments, and she'd known them for fifteen years now. In Hermione's mind there was no such thing as a lost cause.

She just needed to be realistic. Hermione knew her strengths; she was quick enough with her wand, quicker even with words and she was an expert planner. In this battle of wills she needed to know when and where to attack, just as when to retreat and take stock of her losses. She also needed a back up plan if she didn't manage to convince Draco, because at the moment it looked like she didn't have even a snowball's chance in hell. Or perhaps fiendfyre would be a better comparison?

Nonetheless, if this marriage was to take place, then she would accept that. She would accept it and move on. But Hermione was adamant that she would make it as painful an experience as possible for Draco. There was honour, and revenge, even in defeat.

First things first, she needed to make a list… And then she ought to brush her teeth.

And then she really had to get out of this room; there was a whole castle to explore.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The palace was _huge_.

She had thought it was large when she had first visited, however, exploring now Hermione realised how much larger it was than her first impression.

There were whole wings that she never seen before; hallways that had once led to abrupt dead ends now led onto whole suites of rooms. Yet it wasn't as if the palace was ever-changing, as the stairs and classrooms tended to at Hogwarts. Conversely, it seemed that nothing at all had changed.

She felt that there was perhaps as much magic holding the halls of this castle constant as there was in the dynamic architecture of Hogwarts.

Except for the additions of new rooms everything matched her memory exactly. The decorations had aged a small degree but none of the furniture had moved even the smallest fraction of an inch since the day she had left many years ago, from the paintings down to the smallest of ornaments. In fact, it did not feel as if the palace had changed at all. It was if she had always somehow known there were rooms behind doors that didn't exist; only now she was able to see them.

For most of the morning Hermione explored. By the middle of the day she was beginning to become ever so slightly bored.

The rooms were all sumptuous, the furniture gleamed with polish and the views were spectacular, but there was only so much she could admire before her appreciation of the beauty began to wane. There was something to be said for the earthy coloured ramshackle rooms at The Burrow, with dented furniture and threadbare upholstery. Those rooms said something; they were full of life even when unoccupied, unlike the frozen emptiness of the castle.

Hermione realised she had become entirely too blasé when she started to scratch off the enamel of one portrait's intricately decorated frame with her fingernail. The brilliant white horse in the painting stamped it's foot in irritation and blew great puffs of air out of it's nostrils. She rolled her eyes at the horse's theatrics, feeling the tiniest bit of perverseness in upsetting the arrogant beast.

But then she had discovered _it_. And it was possibly the most fantastic thing she had ever laid eyes upon. A library. _The Library_.

She was irrationally disgruntled at the castle for hiding this treasure from her on her first visit, and at the same time delighted that it would share it with her now.

The castle had several libraries, in which she had spent a considerable amount of time eight years ago. But this was the definitive room; this was _THE _Library. It almost took her breath away.

The room was almost unbelievably large and had a high ceiling, like most in the palace. Unlike most, however, it was decorated in darker tones, with wood paneling and cracked leather furnishings. Windows were set high into the walls and let in muted shafts of light which lit the small dust motes hanging in the air. Hermione's eyes followed the path of the light to fall lovingly upon the row after row of different sized tomes lining the walls. The Library was otherwise quite dark; the dark leather of ancient furnishings almost bleeding into the shadows. The room somehow managed to look gothic and romantic at the same time and despite the mild spring warmth Hermione thought the room's atmosphere could only have benefited from a fire burning steadily in the grate.

Hermione crossed the threshold slowly, unsurely. That moment felt almost sacred. As if this room was a temple and she were the high priestess. Oh, but she wished, Hermione would have loved to bow her head in worship of these walls.

But it was not in her nature to be so blindly devoted. Books were not idols, to be worshipped as symbols and relics only.

And this was, after all, a Malfoy library. There was a great probability that she wouldn't find anything sublime in these tomes at all...

An hour later Hermione was curled up in the arm large chair her head bent over a book, a cup of tea with a constant warming charm and a plate of newly conjured biscuits on the low table beside her. Hermione had actually become so engrossed by the detailed the history of Cythera before it was ceded to the Malfoy family, that she had completely forgotten the conjured food and drink. The majority of The Library's books were in some way related to the tiny island nation, with the remaining fraction devoted to the Malfoy family; and even there was not one essay on the superiority of their bloodlines as far as Hermione could see.

For a Malfoy library, it was really quite restrained.

Her food remained untouched as she continued to read through the large tome. Only after Hermione had safely put the book away would she pick up her tea and biscuits, being careful to magically clean her hands to remove any traces of moisture and foodstuffs before she would pick up another book.

Undoubtedly the books were all spelled against the acid and grease from human hands and everyday spills, and probably a good deal besides that, but it would not be proper to… 'disrespect' them, even so. For the moment, however, food was not the principle thought in her head.

She was so engrossed in the written words, in fact, that the sound of approaching footsteps and soft voices did not penetrate her conscious until a moment before the door opened.

* * *

_A/N: I probably won't be able to get a new chapter up for a while. Possibly a month, I'm not sure. I'll be travelling and won't have access to computers or internet regularly so I'll have few opportunities to write and update. SORRY. I really wanted to update before my extended absence – even if I did leave you all hanging there._


	12. Hide and Go Seek

_Hermione was so engrossed in the written words, in fact, that the sound of approaching footsteps and soft voices did not penetrate her conscious until a moment before the door opened._

* * *

The library door was swung shut with more force than strictly necessary.

"How many times do I have to tell you," a recognisably cold voice menaced, "to raise these matters in private?"

Hermione's immediate reaction on hearing the approaching footsteps had admittedly not been thoroughly thought through. But she had lived for far too long in an instinct driven constant fight-or-flight mode, it was harder to re-adjust to relative safety than most expected. And she was just damn tired of fighting. So there she was, crouched low and hopefully completely hidden behind a large chair and trying to breathe as softly as possible; desperately hoping that neither Draco nor the unfortunate 'you' accompanying him would notice her book lying open on the table along with a cup of fresh tea and biscuits. She just hoped she would remain hidden for long enough to avoid a confrontation.

"but we're starting to garner international attention," the second voice stated plainly, offering no apologies, "at the moment it isn't a particular worry but you know how these things can snowball."

"Pressure from all corners of the country – and soon the globe. Just what we needed."

"There are two issues here. Both must be treated diplomatically and kept completely separate in public opinion if we have any chance of resolving this quietly. We have to tread a fine line to keep both sides as content as possible. Somehow we have to enact radical change at a remarkable pace and maintain everything as it is now. The country is still very much dependent on the old crowd who flocked here during your father's time and the revenues derived from their ill-gotten gains, however we must balance--"

"Yes. I am well aware of the situation, thank you. I don't suppose it would be diplomatic to call them 'ill-gotten gains', either," Draco wryly observed.

"Funds amassed from questionable activities may be a better turn of phrase." This was delivered without any inflection to suggest it was a joke.

"Let's just ignore the semantics for now."

"We must find a way to remove these accounts."

"It's not as simple as all that. I'm sure there are angles to this we haven't explored," there was a long pause, broken by a Draco's sigh as he dropped into his seat. "Alright. Just watch to see if this progresses. Given the increased awareness we may be forced to move things up a bit and–"

"And the wedding?"

Hermione tried not to react, but even so a chocked gasp escaped her. _Maybe…?_

"This has all happened at a rather inconvenient time and I don't want to lose control of things. An agreement has to be reached quickly, quietly and, above all, cleanly…"

_Just maybe?_ Hermione felt it might not be entirely appropriate to cross her fingers, but she wished silently all the same. Surely Draco was leading somewhere with this?

Draco gave another tired sigh. "No, the wedding will remain as planned."

_Poo._

"Remember to discuss this confidentially next time. That is all, thank you."

Hermione held her breath even after the door closed, remaining motionless and wishing that the discussion had been just a little less vague about everything. Was it paranoia, or had she really heard only one pair of footsteps leave?

"Unless you're in the middle of a game of hide and seek with the cleaning staff, I suggest you come out now, Hermione."

_Damn and blast that man!_

"Yes – well…" Hermione rose gracelessly from her hiding place. She hoped he had some royal version of the Marauders Map. She really didn't want to credit him with some extra-sensory awareness of her presence and the only other explanation was her own short coming.

"How did you know?"

"No one else has a biscuit habit quite like yours." He replied in a tone without the sharp edge of mockery. Resting his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, Draco began massaging the bridge of his nose. "Although I don't know quite how you managed to be here. Theoretically this entire wing should be closed except to those with official business… perhaps a betrothal ring counts as official business these days. I'll have to have all the wards checked and spellwork redone."

"I should hardly think it would be a problem – unless there are other secret fiancées out there I don't know about." Her response also lacked the belligerence their exchanges usually had.

Draco's hand fell away from his face, "No one else. There's just you." His piercing grey gaze seemed to hold her in place. It was an uncomfortable feeling of being examined, somewhat akin to an insect stuck through with a pin. Until he blinked, and then slowly let his head fall back and his eyes shut again.

"You are opposed to the idea of change, aren't you?"

Her reaction to his making her edgy and uncomfortable was to turn it all back onto him. That need for the upper-hand was also the reason she remained standing while Draco was sitting.

"Change for the sake of change, maybe. Otherwise no. But I'm sure you're in favour of it?"

"Of course. The current system is intolerable. One small group of people hold all the power due to this myth of blood and birth. They amass political power through this control and economic power by profiting from the suffering of others."

"You do realise this country had no other viable products or industries, that the money earned from that suffering has gone on to do good? What do you think funds healthcare and schools?"

"You can't argue that the ends always justify the means, how can you measure something like good against bad? No system, no country should be built on that!"

"Should is a troublesome word. And it's not so easy to change something so large so quickly. There are limits to everything. Despite all this talk of what I should do, it's more a question of what I can do."

"You can make laws, freeze assests, retroactively prosecute and punish those people for those crimes."

Hermione was progressively becoming more agitated, yet Draco's tone remained mild. He hadn't even opened his eyes, and Hermione wasn't sure whether to feel irritated or grateful for it.

"This is what you think I should do. There are those of the opinion that legally I _cannot _do any such thing because for many there is no hard evidence of any illegalities and the others have not broken Cytheran law or the laws were not broken in Cythera. Considering the economic benefits to this country some would even argue it is also inadvisable that I _should _do so."

"Are you having fun playing devil's advocate?"

"This is a complex issue. There are multiple stakeholders and countless views on it. There needs to be a consensus; one that benefits this country and its people."

"You sound just as hollow as your advisors! Do you even have your own opinions any more?"

The silence stretched for several moments, "I only want what is best for Cythera."

"So, that's a no? … You know Draco it's all very well and fine to talk of economic benefits when you live in a palace."

With that, Hermione turned on her heel and stormed towards the entrance. She had just thrust the doors open when Draco's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Have you noticed any House Elves lately?"

* * *

_A/N: Why, hello again. It's been a long while. Considerably longer than I assumed. Apologies for the extended absence. Blame my long run of bad luck, blame travelling, blame moving countries and moving house. Blame me. BUT there's finally a new chapter and soon there'll be another to follow it. If anyone is still reading, of course…_


	13. Found More Than You Were Looking For

_"Have you noticed any House Elves lately?"_

Draco watched as Hermione's stomping progress out of the room came to a sudden halt at the doorway. She didn't move for a very long time, just stood, completely motionless, with her back to him. And then the tiniest of movements, like a small shiver and she had stumbled listlessly out of the room. She hadn't looked back. Not even a glare…

He sighed again, heavily, and hated himself for it. Well, it wasn't like he expected her to leap into his lap and shower him with hugs and kisses of thanks. Hoped, maybe, but he certainly hadn't expected it. But he _had_ managed to get the last word in, Draco could at least find comfort in that.

Slumping down further in his chair, Draco groaned. Hermione was entirely too idealistic for her own, and everyone around her's, good.

A few scant years ago Draco would have accused her of being a bleeding heart, or a do-gooder and it would have been exactly that, and accusation. It had taken him a long time to realise that it wasn't all motivated by some desire for self promotion, martyrdom for hopeless causes or a self-righteous belief that she was superior to everyone else and they had all better just get into line behind her. It was a lesson that was still taking its time to sink in; he was still somewhat inclined to roll his eyes when she got particularly fired up (and hence found it safer to keep them closed rather let the telling movement show). When Draco realised her advocacy wasn't all just some ludicrously complicated revenge plot against purebloods that Hermione honestly believed in the equality of magical beings as a means for the betterment of society, he started to believe it too. Not immediately, of course. One doesn't simply wake up one morning and throw off all his old beliefs just like the bed sheets. And maybe Hermione hadn't been the only one to wake him up to the error of his ideas, but she had been the start…

The trouble was she wanted everything to change without delay. As much as she liked to extensively research, find out every possible piece of information about the issues, plan, and approach the problem from all the angles, Hermione thought all her battles would be like the Battle of Hogwarts; hard and brutal, with blood spilt on both sides but finished quickly enough, and with a decided victor. She thought because she believed in a cause so wholeheartedly and cared so deeply for it, that it would only be a matter of time and a few lectures before other people believed in it too. The world didn't work like that. She had believed and lectured and argued and he hadn't changed, at least not outwardly nor immediately. Draco knew better than most that change was a slow process; it was more like her first six years at Hogwarts, a series of small wins which all could have just as easily ended as defeats, you learnt things along the way and made plans, abandoned strategies until at the end of it there was eventually a sense of hard-won achievement. Hopefully, in this circumstance he would have better success at keeping it out of the newspapers.

There was a time when he would have considered any problem too big to fix by throwing the weight of his name and money around not worth his time. But now Draco also knew, had only just recently found out, the particular pleasure to look back at the end of it all and think '_it was worth all that effort, I was on the right side_'. Because for most of his life he hadn't been right, he had been rich (and yes, there was a difference). For a man who had felt for most of his childhood that success and respect were his birthright and not the rewards of hard work and effort, it had come as a shock during the War to realise that neither side actually respected him.

He had known that the members of the Order and their supporters didn't respect him, although it had been a source of continual irritation and the root of a lot of his antagonism towards Gryffindors in general and three of them in particular. It had been a nasty surprise to learn that the Death Eaters didn't particularly respect him either; not before he was asked to prove himself to Voldemort and certainly not after. True, there were people on either side that were perhaps in awe of his family name or his wealth but it had taken a very hard lesson to force Draco to realise that awe was in fact different to respect.

Awe was something he inherited, that would have been afforded to anyone lucky enough to be born Malfoy or heir to a large fortune, which could turn to derision quickly enough when the integrity of the Malfoy name was soiled or their fortunes lost. In another time and place he may have just settled for that awe and not even realised that he _was_ 'settling'. But respect was something entirely different; respect _he_ would have to _earn._ It would be gained only through time and his own actions and choices, but once he had gained it, it would be entirely _his,_ not something his father had bought him, that he had taken from someone more deserving or that he had too easily won on account of his notoriety alone. Draco wanted to prove himself or perhaps, more accurately, prove _to_ himself that he could be more. And it wouldn't be a total loss if he could prove it to a couple of other people as well… He wanted to be remembered as something more than just another rich, handsome snob or the latest in a long line of evil, baby-killing Malfoys. So, maybe that was a little bit selfish… but wasn't it possible to be right, _do_ right and get something out of it? It didn't all have to be hard work and blind self-sacrifice with no return!

Harry Potter, the Grand Duke of Good, was currently the most beloved public figure in Wizarding Britain (closely followed by the newest Wizard boy band Ennerv8). As much as he hated to admit it, Draco knew he would probably never manage to eclipse Potter. He just couldn't match the litany of selfless acts and heroics – indeed, there was not as much calling for them these days but surely it was in his powers to orchestrate a victory for good without actually _being_ good?

He just might be able to give those fruity warblers a run for their money.

Draco grinned. _He simply wouldn't be Slytherin if he didn't try._

Then an accusing voice rudely shook him out of his introspection.

"Alright! What have you done to the House Elves?!"

He was a complete and utter wanker. An arse-faced wanking wanker… Except that he wasn't… He had been – once – but it was becoming increasingly clear that he wasn't any more. She couldn't work out what that made him now.

At first she thought he had made his point about the House Elves just to have the last word in the argument. She felt it had been an accusation of sorts. He was mocking her, saying she had given up on her principles and had stopped noticing the House Elves; taking their hard work for granted like everyone else. That had stopped Hermione in her tracks. It was true, she hadn't noticed! She felt mortified. She could not face him, would not be able to look him in the eye after she had acted so sanctimoniously.

Halfway down the hallway, Hermione changed her mind. She wasn't so changed; she _would_ have noticed House Elves had they been around the castle. Which could only mean that they weren't in the castle… and that begged the question, _where were the House Elves_? Draco's question wasn't an accusation at all, it had been a threat.

It had clearly been a taunt, '_Don't anger me, I could make you disappear. I got rid of the House Elves, didn't I?_'

Hermione had turned around and retraced her steps, mind set on confronting Draco. Well, more accurately she had stormed back in, barked out an question and before he even had a chance to react, she had started flinging about accusations about what exactly he had likely done to the House Elves. She had also had some pretty inventive suggestions for what he could do to _himself_, just in case he was interested.

It was all rather embarrassing to look back on.

Without really giving him time to answer she had demanded that he show her, tell her what he had done and all but dragged him along behind her as she left the library. Draco had watched her bemusedly, then had thrown off her arm and marched in the exact opposite direction. After a few long strides he stopped, turned and waited for Hermione to follow him.

"Well?"

She would have preferred to lead the way, but truth be told she had no idea where to go and would certainly become lost if she tried. Instead she followed Draco, seething silently.

Draco had not offered any explanations or excuses while she followed him through numerous corridors and up staircases until he had stopped, opened a door and allowed her to see the truth for herself.

The palace actually did still have House Elves.

Three House Elves: Tipty, Grinko and Forsythe. They were possibly the oldest House Elves she had ever seen. Their skin resembled tree bark more than any other substance, they had about nine teeth between them and several long white hairs were growing on Tipty's chin, Grinko's ears and one corner of Forsythe's upper lip. Upon being introduced they bowed low and Hermione could have sworn she heard their bones creak.

"Six years ago laws were enacted to free all House Elves from their indentured labour. It wasn't a particularly easy move to make, and it certainly wasn't popular at the time, but for the most part people have accepted it now. In order to optimise the success of the measures, they were shown to have the full support of the royal family. However, while the other Royal House Elves had been freed and resettled and employed elsewhere, these three elected to stay on (refused to leave, more like it)."

Hermione flinched and shame-facedly avoided his level gaze. She would really have to stop losing her temper if every time she made a rash move it ended with Draco having the upper hand. His voice lowered considerably, but his words lost none of the frost his cold tone imparted.

"Most other Elves have been employed in state enterprise, or kept on as waged employees by their original families. These three are too old to be of much service, and until recently few individuals considered suitable who could afford to pay wages for unproductive workers. Since they refuse to retire, they have been kept on here and shall remain here indefinitely," his voice regained his natural timbre, but Hermione was miserable to hear the keen mocking edge return as well. "You shouldn't have cause of concern though, they are restricted to cleaning only one wing of the palace and given light tasks even then. They have been provided with clothes, which all three refuse to wear. They are paid – grudgingly – and entitled to holidays and sick days, which they probably never take. On the whole they keep to themselves and despite attempts at rehabilitation they are still happiest being ordered around, although now they do make a concession to the use of the word 'please', as long as they were still shouted at – House Elves are weird like that. So you see, I am far from all those names you called me. Elf rights are protected here, even from their own selves."

Her voice was hardly above a whisper, "This is quite amazing. I can't believe… You must have–"

"Hardly. I'm not the crusading hero, remember? House Elves are remarkably industrious and efficient. It can take as many as three wizards to do the work of one indentured Elf. When they are not magically compelled to do so, a free Elf has a labour output almost equal to your average wizard. So you see, freeing them actually creates employment opportunities for witches and wizards. It may be menial labour, but in a country such as this, there can be considerable competition even for those jobs." And then in a voice absolutely devoid of emotion, "Emancipating the Elves was a move that benefited Cythera."

With that, Draco spun on his heel and strode angrily, but smoothly, out of the room.

Hermione lingered, mulling over his words and watching the old Elves slowly go about their business.

Evidently House Elves were still House Elves even if they _did_ work in a palace. Tipty and Grinko grumbled about the good old days when a good Elf worked a full day and half the night for nothing more than a box on the ear and enjoyed it(!) and Forsythe nodded away or smacked his lips absentmindedly. But they all seemed happy enough, content to polish already shining utensils and dust spotless ornaments.

Hermione's final conclusion was that Draco Malfoy either wasn't as big an arsehole as he liked to pretend or that in his opinion she ranked even lower than House Elves, who were among the most marginalised and unloved creatures in the magical world. Neither option was entirely satisfactory.

_Maybe he was still a wanker then... just a different sort._

Still, if nothing else this whole thing proved that _anyone_ could change. If the only thing she got out of this was the fact that Draco Malfoy had changed (even if it was only towards House Elves), then she could go back home and tell Harry and Ron they had been wrong about him and be glad for it. And it would make the "Why?" and "How could you?" and "He's a MALFOY, Hermione. A disgusting, stinking, baby killing demon-spawn Malfoy!" conversations just that little bit easier to handle... Not that she particularly wanted to be the one to change him, mind you.

And now that she came to think about it, Hermione wasn't planning on ever having the "demon-spawn" discussion if she could help it... even for the new softer, kinder different-class-of-wanker Draco Malfoy...

* * *

_A/N:_ _This is more Chapter 12 (cont.) than a stand alone chapter in itself. So instead of one decent sized chapter you get two pretty pathetic-sized ones... I want no complaints because at least it arrived on time. There must be festive season magic in the air or something... _

_And seeing as you have all been nice Santa, or a similar friendly non-denominational gift bearer, has a bit of a last minute gift (insert plug here) in the form of a short little stocking-filler-story, 'Your Call Could Not Be Connected' ... alright, I'll admit it, "Santa" was really just me dressed up in a big red fat suit... you should still read it though - check my author profile! Happy Holidays and an even better New Year!_


	14. Things That Go Punch in the Night

Endless pacing wasn't particularly helpful, it did nothing towards solving any of the myriad of problems Draco spent most of his day worrying over. Endless pacing did, however, afford him a chance to get rid of some of that restless energy he found himself constantly brimming with of late.

He had pressing, international-sized battles demanding his attention, but Draco just couldn't seem to stop himself from getting mired in this endless tit-for-tat of petty sniping and one-upmanship. It was all _HER_ fault, of course. All his problems seemed to start and end with Hermione Granger. She was the distraction, the one who filled his thoughts when he should really be busy with other things. Critical domestic things-that-had-the-potential-for-global-results. The two biggest problems he could ever be saddled with had somehow managed to arrive within days of each other. He was just one man (admittedly, one above-average man) and this was one tiny, otherwise unremarkable island. Draco sighed. He always managed to get the rough end of the stick. And he was well on his way to completely ruining both deals.

He didn't want one or the other. Draco wanted to finally be hero who saved the day and got the prize at the end. Solving this highly volatile political situation would not feel like an achievement if it caused him to lose the girl. There was something about her that just _got_ to him. Of course, it didn't stop him – or even her, for that matter – from acting like a complete fool.

Yes, she had been presumptuous and entirely unwarranted in her condemnation, but he still felt like an arse for rubbing her nose in it… Really, he didn't know what he was thinking these days, except that he wished that someone else could deal with his problems while he dealt with Hermione. Her reappearance had confirmed that she still… _affected_ him. She still had the ability to cloud his mind and completely destroy his level headedness. He felt unhinged around her; blindly hopping from one emotion to another…

Hermione was feeling a similar level of frustration and confusion. Which is why she was standing outside his suite of rooms, hand poised to knock on the door, silently running through an apology she had prepared in her head. She really did feel bad about the Elf episode… Fools rush in, and Hermione felt, with that last piece of brilliance, she had just proved herself the queen of the whole bunch… or whatever the actual title would be, given that every second was just that little bit closer to a wedding with the Prince-of-all-Fools. And yet, there she was, wasting precious _minutes_ standing frozen outside his room. Taking a deep breath, and then hesitating only briefly, Hermione knocked on the door.

The few moments before the door swung open seemed to stretch into forever. Then, suddenly, Draco was glaring down at her from the doorway.

"Hermione? It's practically the middle of the night…"

Hermione bristled at the note of disapproval in his voice, "Don't pretend I woke you. No one would be able to sleep in robes starched that firm."

He neither moved not made any attempt to speak, but simply continued to stare down at her, not giving an inch.

"I, uh… there's something I wanted to tell you…"

An eyebrow lifted, "And it couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"

"It couldn't."

Draco waved a hand. "Well, then, by all means - tell me."

"Listen, I don't know why you insist on this silly marriage when you know it will make neither of us happy and there are far more suitable women who would jump at the chance. I don't like being cooped up here, you frustrate me, I'm sick of your attitude… but what I really came here to say is that… is that I'm sorry."

Ignoring the movements she could see out of the corner of her eye, Hermione continued to deliver her apology to the carpet.

"I acted appallingly, like the spoilt brat I always accused you of being. It solves nothing and it only reflects badly on me. I'll try my best to act in a manner befitting your position and I accept–"

Strong hands grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled Hermione over the doorsill and then pushing her against the wall. Narrow lips slanted over hers and a hand began caressing her hip. And then, just as suddenly, they were removed.

Draco was bent double, hugging his abdomen. His eyes watered and he was panting in pain. Hermione stood staring intensely down at him, an expression of displeasure twisting her features.

"You'll get more than a sucker punch next time. If you even think about doing that again without my expressed permission, I swear you'll be less a pair when you wake up the next morning."

"Hitting's no fair." Draco wheezed. "If you had any sense of decency at all, you'd pull your wand on me."

Ignoring that remark seemed to Hermione to be the most mature option, right after heading to the door and slamming it one her way out.

"Wait –" Draco's voice stopped her mid-stride. "I'll admit I shouldn't have done that, but we've both said and done things we possibly would want to rethink."

Hermione was slow to turn around, but when she finally did her head was high and her shoulder squared. Draco's eyes settled on her set jaw and he winced as he straightened to his full height.

"You're right. This endless antagonism is getting us nowhere. Neither of us look set on changing our minds, and yet seeing as I have the upperhand," Hermione sent an icy glare for that, which he shrugged off, smiling, "It would seem we're stuck with each other. And, that being the case, we really should make this arrangement bearable for both of us."

"I still don't agree with any of this, I'd like to add. But I do recognise that you've wedged me fairly between a rock and a hard place. So for the moment I'm agreeing to stop _disagreeing_ so indecorously."

"Indeed. Do you suppose we could frame the conditions of this peace treaty in the morning?"

Hermione held his stare seriously precisely for several beats, gave a curt nod and did not quite slam the door on her way out.

Leaving Draco to pace.

* * *

_I have no comment to make at this time._


	15. Your Invitation is in the Mail

_dot bine, dot bin_e..._ *ahem* Sorry, blocked nose. That's supposed to read: not mine_

* * *

As it turned out, the terms of the peace agreement were not discussed the next morning. Or at any time the next day.

Draco had finally given up on endless pacing after Hermione left his room; he sat at his desk, head in his hands and tried to sort of the jumble of thoughts he had been unsuccessfully trying to block out for several days. Likewise, Hermione lay in bed, in the dark, her mind replaying and analysing events relentlessly. Neither had much sleep, nor did they come to a satisfying conclusion.

However, both Hermione and Draco emerged the next morning with one clear thought in mind: it was not worth destroying their tentative truce by arguing over conditions. At least, given the increasing amount of time they had to spend together, the evidence that it was possible to reach an agreement bolstered both their spirits.

Daily life would paradoxically become both a lot easier and significantly more difficult for the Prince and his fiancée.

* * *

Hermione had a lot of opinions and, never one to be shy about what she thought, she certainly didn't mind airing them for all to hear. She couldn't in all truth say that it had never before happened, but it was certainly a rare occurrence that Hermione Granger had allowed others to take control and make decisions, rather than telling everyone in the vicinity exactly what she thought. But sitting there now, surrounded by fabric swatches and cards, she simply couldn't say she had a view one way or the other.

Hermione had never been personally involved in planning a wedding before, although she had attended many held during the postwar euphoria. If they were always this much hassle, she could definitely see why people would only want to go through all this once in a lifetime. Most brides would be looking forward to their wedding day with eager anticipation and not a sense of foreboding, and this probably made all the difference. And, admittedly this wedding was a larger affair than most.

Of course, Hermione's agreement, and therefore her presence, was somewhat irrelevant. There was not actually that much planning to do and few actual decisions to make; all but the minutest details were determined by tradition and ceremony, or had previously been arranged many years ago, probably around the time of Draco's birth. Almost every other aspect of the ceremony itself was pre-ordained, from the vows, to the appropriate colour, length and width of the ties and sashes for the wedding party.

Instead of planning, she sat and watched Draco shuffling through endless reams of dusty parchment, filled with notes, instructions and formal arrangements that were twenty or more years old. A number of rolls of parchment had been set aside in a smaller pile. These, Hermione noticed when she snuck a quick peek, were all directly related to the bride, identified in faded lettering each time as one Pansy Parkinson.

Although Draco did seem to have the final say in the fine-tuning of arrangements, there was very little he was able to change in reality. Despite the supposed authority and privileges of his position, for the first time Hermione could see that there were concrete limits to Draco's power.

His wasn't a hard life, by any means, no one could look around the opulent room she was currently sitting in and suggest that; it was, however, a life full of obligations and few options. All those clichés about gilded cages and 'poor little rich boys' suddenly came into context. He was a Malfoy by birth, a symbol for old magic and purity because of this, he had been born to take up the position but unexpectedly made a Prince by his father's untimely death, and the ruler of a small, troubled country by the same royal decree; none of this he had chosen. He had revelled in his position at times, used it ceaselessly to his advantage, and it was true that he probably wouldn't have picked any other life for himself. Nevertheless, it was not a life he had chosen. From even before the day he was born, Draco Malfoy had been all these things, but when did he have a chance to just be himself?

The fortunes of an entire country, and its people, rested on the back of the decisions he would make, and yet Draco couldn't even run his own wedding the way he chose… At least it now seemed that he could choose his own wife, if not the location in which he would be married, the music that would play or even the buckle on the belt he would wear that day.

In one tiny way, he had taken his revenge by choosing a bride that no one, not even the woman herself, had foreseen.

But the way he had gone about it had completely taken the power of choice away from _**her**_…

That realisation swept away most of her feelings of sympathy. Hermione may have gained a better understanding of Draco, but that did not mean that she was ready to forgive.

"I don't suppose you've managed to slip in any heraldry along with all that other study, have you?"

He hadn't looked up from the table and was still shuffling through parchment, but it had surely been Draco's voice that interrupted her thoughts.

"What?"

"An interesting thought… do the Grangers even have a coat of arms?" Draco mused. He pushed forward a particularly faded parchment filled with tiny, flowing script. "Right here," tapping a line of writing, "the family shields have to be placed together in on the castle gates, official seals and documents, they must be carried during the procession …"

"There's a procession?"

Draco laughed dryly, "Just like when the circus comes to town."

"Wizards have a _circus_?"

Ignoring her wide-eyed looked of incredulity, he continued, "Do you know if your family has a heraldic shield?"

Banishing all mental images of Draco as a lion tamer (_and cursing the implication_), Hermione sat up straighter and looked him directly in the eye, hoping the blush would not show on her cheeks. "I wouldn't know. My family decided to leave the 14th century behind when it ended."

Apparently, Draco decided not to take offence to that. He only nodded and went back to reading the parchment. "It's purely for ceremony, anyway, designed to show both families' long and distinguished bloodlines. Few people will care and even fewer will be able to recognise Muggle heraldry. You can think of your own if you'd rather; although you will have to do so for both sides," pointing to another line on the same document, "your father's family and your mother's."

If she were to design her own device, the thought struck Hermione that she could include something really Muggle, a car maybe? A vaccum cleaner? A computer? Or something calculated purely to annoy Draco, a red lion surrounded by gold lightning bolts?

In the end, diplomacy won out. If one ignore the whole 'forced marriage' business, he was being perfectly nice to her. While Hermione found that she couldn't ignore the forced marriage thing, she did appreciate that he wasn't making this truce hard on her. In the interests of continued equanimity, she would state her loyalty as clearly, yet delicately as possible. The first shield featured the twin devices of a deer's head and a hound, _for Harry and Ron's patronus forms_. The other two towers, _to represent the strength and solidity of her parents_, and a wheat sheaf.

"Wheat?" Draco raised an eyebrow, "For fertility?"

Hermione blushed. _She should have gone with the lightning bolt idea_… "That's not what it means… it's grain, for Granger."

_If he looked disappointed, it could only have been because he really had expected red and gold lions. Or maybe a house elf?_

Draco merely nodded, "These will be forged at the same time the coins are re-minted. They've been sitting around for 7 years with DM linked to the double P, obviously that has to change now."

And darn it all if most of that sympathy didn't come flooding back.

* * *

At the end of the day, although the majority of the (pre-arranged) preparations had been finalised, there were still some minor adjustments to be made. Despite tradition, Draco did not feel it appropriate to use green accents alongside the silverware now that the bride was no longer a fellow Slytherin. Hermione really couldn't care less about colour schemes, but was aware that he was trying to be understanding… that, or he was stating his defiance very clearly. Either way, it was still only a colour scheme.

There was also still the matter of a wedding dress. Even with custom and ceremony, the Malfoys seemed to have realised that, if she had control over little else, a bride would want to choose her own dress. Unfortunately for Hermione, this just happened to be one area of planning she would have most appreciated a few guidelines and advice. That was what friends were usually for, but all her friends were safely back home in England.

"May I see that guest list again?" she asked, holding her hand out to accept an especially long roll of parchment.

Countless names had been scratched off and added in different ink and handwriting as people died or worked their way into and out of favour. Several names were struck through and rewritten numerous times before that final cross. It wasn't quite as morbid as Mrs. Black's tapestry, but Hermione still shuddered upon recognising some of the names and remembering their ends.

"I want to invite my own guests."

"…Guests?"

"If I'm going to do this, then I want my friends and family there."

Draco looked nonplussed for a long moment. "You're going to do it? I thought your general policy was to ignore everything in the hope that it would go away."

"I still hope that you'll change your mind. But it's looking less likely every day that this whole thing is going to go away. I'd much rather talk to my friends now and explain what's happening than for them to find out from someone else."

"Explain? You mean you'll twist the facts and make me out to be the bad guy."

"And how different is that to the real reason I'm here now?" he looked like he might have wanted to interject, but Hermione continued to talk, "Draco, you'll _always_ be the bad guy to them. That's why I need to straighten things out beforehand. How is it going to look if I show up married to a man that I've professed to hate for more years than I'd like to recall?"

His voice was strained, "You only want to tell them so that Potter and Weasley will show up to kidnap you away from me."

_Obviously she heard that wrong… She simply attached the wrong meaning to the words… That only sounded dejected because Draco knew he'd wake up smarting from a hex or two to the head…_

"Honestly, you're just being unrealistic now. I doubt I'll get more than a sternly worded owl or two. Harry has to stick close to home now that Ginny's due soon and Ron is on his honeymoon. If either one of them leaves his wife to come here for some rescue attempt, I'll kick them out myself."

His grey eyes considered her for a moment, taking in her earnest expression and steady gaze. Finally his eyes lowered. "You can explain all you want, but I doubt that they'll come. Still, invite them, I won't give you any more resistance... I'm not sure your parents will be hugely welcome though."

_That cut - deep. Had he intended that to hurt?_

The insult was evident in Hermione's voice. "That's what you get when you marry a muggle-born, you have to deal with muggles. You'll survive somehow."

"No. What I meant was… you know my mo–"

An ear-splitting crack, followed by the sound of an explosion stopped them both. Through the window they could see a plume of purple smoke rising in the distance.

Half way turned to race towards the door, a strong arm held Hermione back.

"I need you to stay here." Draco bit out roughly and strode from the room.

* * *

_U/N (unnecessary note): Ok. That was a tough one to get out. If it sounds confusing or awkward in places, there's a reason. I'm tired, blocked up with the flu, and all in all, sort of disappointed with myself._ _Finally, we can all agree, haha. Anyway, BIG things up soon! Big, explosive things... or just explosions. And Narcissa, our own personal favourite ticking time bomb... _

_Hearty cheers to readers, reviewers and newbies. Thanks for putting up with my nonsense (smiley face)_


	16. All in Your Head

Disclaimer: There once was a little old lady who lived in a shoe... wasn't me. Follow the same reasoning and you'll find that I own none of this.

* * *

**Last time:**

_The insult was evident in Hermione's voice. "That's what you get when you marry a muggle-born, you have to deal with muggles. You'll survive somehow."_

"_No. What I meant was… you know my mo–"_

_An ear-splitting crack, followed by the sound of an explosion stopped them both. Through the window they could see a plume of purple smoke rising in the distance._

_Half way turned to race towards the door, a strong arm held Hermione back._

"_I need you to stay here." Draco bit out roughly and strode from the room._

* * *

'_Well…'_ she thought, and then '_Well…_' again because she couldn't come up with an adequate thought to replace it.

Hermione wasn't really the kind of woman you could just tell to stay put. While she was quite content to do just that when it suited her, as soon as she was ordered to, it was practically impossible for her to do so.

She didn't actively court danger, far from it. Hermione was one of the least likely persons to go running off into a situation she knew nothing about. That she had been involved in and survived, in her mind largely by accident, so many dangerous situations came down to a chance acquaintance in first year, because Harry and Ron were just the opposite. There was usually a conflict between the calm and reasoned part of her that wanted nothing to do with mortal peril and the bravery and courage that had caused the Sorting Hat to place her in Gryffindor in the first place. However, if that perilous situation appealed to her sense reason, or to her boundless curiosity, it was necessarily a short conflict.

Any command to 'stay there', 'don't go in' or 'look away' immediately peaked her curiosity. It meant that something was happening or there was something beyond the door. There was a something that someone didn't want her to know about, a secret something, a secret that Draco wanted to keep her away from. Perhaps a dangerous something, but that was merely a secondary concern at this point:

Hermione felt that it was far more dangerous not to know.

She disliked words like _something_; they were imprecise, inexact, uncertain. Secrets and mysteries were troublesome things, the possibilities played over and over in her mind. A secret would distract her, by its very virtue of being unknown, for as long as it remained as such. It was important for her to recognise exactly what the secret was and label it as such, no matter if it was an entirely innocuous and mundane object or piece of information. The mystery would keep her awake at night until she solved it. She could easily become obsessed by her ignorance, consumed by her need to understand.

Especially important were those _somethings_ that people actively tried to prevent her learning about.

She needed to know. She felt safer that way. It _was_ safer that way. No one could surprise you with information you already knew.

But she wasn't ready to pick another argument with Draco just yet.

She did stay there, in the room, just as he had asked…

She stayed for long enough to watch from the high up window as Draco's pale figure raced out the gates flanked to two burly guards. She wondered for a moment about the image that made, even after so many years out of Hogwarts her first impression was of Crabbe and Goyle, then Hermione left.

She just didn't get very far.

Racing out the door and into the hallway, she collided with a hard body hurrying in the opposite direction. The man steadied her and held her at arms length. A mumbled apology was halfway out of her mouth before she looked up to see pale hair and sharp features half frowning down at her. She was speechless; for a very disconcerting moment, Hermione thought she had ran straight into Draco, who she had surely just seen leaving the castle.

"Hello, where are you rushing off to?"

The genuine nature of the question, lacking even a hint of accusation, broke her from her confusion. The brash voice was markedly different from Draco's clipped and measured tone.

"Luc?"

The faint lines of a frown smoothed from his forehead. "That's handy. You're rushing to find me, I wanted to find you and we found each other."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Good question. Why were you looking for me?"

"I wasn't... But now you're here – the explosion, do you know what's happening?"

"Explosion? Oh, that? Explosion is a bit of an exaggeration. It was nothing, really."

"Draco seemed to think it was all a bit more than nothing."

"He worries too much."

"_I_ think it's more than nothing."

"Then you worry too much too. Match made in heaven. You can both jump at the sound of every slammed door and dropped cauldron lid and fret together for the far-ranging consequences."

She was incredulous at his belittling attitude. "Be serious, Luc. It was an explosion. They're typically large and fairly destructive. If I've learnt one thing from experience it's that very few objects explode for no reason."

"That's my point exactly. After all that you've experienced it's completely understandable if you imagine that things are all much bigger and perilous than they really are."

"Don't patronise me. It wasn't my imagination. I felt it."

"Even so," Luc stood his ground, smiling blandly.

"I don't care what you think, I'm going to check it out and see for myself."

When Hermione attempted to side step around Luc, she found herself looking into the wall of his shoulders just as before. She tried again. It was as if they were part of a very awkward dance routine, each time she took a step to move around him, he would follow and bodily block the corridor.

"This is no time for jokes."

Completely ignoring the tone that had been known to fell larger men, Luc smiled down at her, "I'm deadly serious."

"Get out of my way."

"Can't."

"Let me pass, Luc or I'll…"

The hand that had reached into her pocket for her wand closed around thin air. Looking down, both her hand and her pocket were empty. She didn't have her wand. It had been there in her pocket when she left the room, but she didn't have it now. Hermione's heart beat fast in her chest and her face flushed hot then cold. She raised her head and narrowed her eyes to once again meet Luc's. Taking a large step back and grounded her weight, preparing for a curse or hex to be fired off.

"Don't go jumping to the wrong conclusion," his voice was still warm and friendly. "You might hurt my feelings."

He hadn't drawn a wand and his hands remained relaxed by his sides, but that meant nothing.

"You stole my wand and you're keeping me captive." Her voice was curt and laden with frost. _Eat your heart out Draco._

"I stole your wand and I'm keeping you _safe_."

"What?"

"The safest place for you is here, in the castle. Not running around a country you hardly know. There are people here who can protect you."

"You?" She was incredulous, did he really --

"Me."

-- He did.

"First of all, that would make it 'person', singular. Secondly, I'm not sure I am safe with anyone who takes my wand and refuses to give it back." Hermione held out her hand, "If I had my wand, I'd be safe wherever I was. I could protect myself.

"But you don't.

"Because you took it from me!"

"Immaterial. Without a wand you're safest here, in the castle. With me."

"You said that there was no explosion, nothing to worry about; why should I now be so concerned about safety and protection?"

"It really was nothing and it will still be nothing later on. But we've previously established the fact that Draco worries too much. Whatever happened, you don't need to go give him another thing to add to the long list that already exists."

"Give me back my wand. I won't go anywhere, just give it back."

"It's collateral. You can have it as soon as Draco gets back, not before."

"I won't forgive you, you realise that? Holding my wand ransom for my good behaviour breaks all the rules."

He simply nodded, "When times call for it, we must use any means to achieve an end."

"That sounds positively Slytherin." Hermione sighed, as she turned back towards the parlour she had sprinted from moments ago. "You really are his cousin, aren't you?"

Luc laughed, "He pays me well."

Halfway through the doorway to the room, Hermione froze. "Pays?" Turning slowly she sent Luc a level gaze.

His smile didn't falter for a second, but she did notice the small nervous twitch of his eyebrow. There was an extended pause as Luc shifted his weight with slightly less grace than usual.

"Obviously. Draco has to bribe people to put up with his company for even short periods of time. I assumed you must have been getting a packet, agreeing to marry him." He winked, and it was all Hermione could do not to blacken his eye so badly he would be hard pressed to ever open it again. "You should really look into renegotiating your contract."

There was another lengthy pause during which Hermione decided to ignore him. She walked over to the window and scanned the view. There was now no sign of the plume of smoke that had risen in the distance and she couldn't see any damage on the ground. She was sure she had felt and heard something (_there was that dreaded word again_), but Luc's words had placed significant doubts in her mind.

Hermione attempted to focus her thoughts on figuring out the explosion from what little she thought she knew. But it was proving impossible, she just didn't know enough of the facts and she was second guessing herself at every opportunity. To add to that, Luc's pacing kept pulling her attention was back to the room and to him. His actions appeared almost thoughtless, but there was a pattern in his moving about, running his hands over the walls and furniture or shifting and examining the few ornaments the room had that suggested a purpose behind the too-carefully studied casual demeanor.

Perhaps feeling her eyes on him, Luc turned.

"See anything you like?"

Hermione fought the instinct to roll her eyes. She didn't think it was anywhere near as bad as Luc's winking, but it was still a bad habit and one that probably irritated people far more than she realised.

"It's quite clear that _you_ see a lot to admire here, and aren't content just to look."

Luc just raised an eyebrow, refusing to be baited. "Adhering to a strict 'look but don't touch' policy may be the deciding factor in why Draco's not paying you enough."

There really was no winning against a Malfoy. Even a Malfoy who, like Luc, had only recently discovered he was one... the fact that she even tried was a sure sign she would end up in a psychiatric ward soon, Hermione figured, if it wasn't already cause enough to admit her then and there.

* * *

**A/N:**_ Not dead! New chapter! Surprises all 'round!  
_

_Sorry for disappearing for such an extended period. It's a long story, boring at some points and deathly boring at others, all of which I hope to work into coming chapters... kidding. I want to say thank you to all the people who sent me messages telling me they were (patiently) waiting for more. Extra special thanks to those who did so _nicely, _you know who you are. _

_Yes, this is short and not hugely interesting, but I figured I had better put this up now or I never would. There will be more to follow… longer and more interesting, hopefully. At this point we should all of us just be glad that I still remember how to string a sentence together._

_Readers and especially reviewers are all very much loved and to all those still with me I say, you're a bunch of masochists... lovely, beautiful masochists who all deserve better.  
Enough grovelling?_


	17. Triumphant Return of a wand

Hermione waited with a restless impatience for Draco to return. He had been gone for almost four hours and no word had been sent back to the castle. By now Luc had stopped pacing and Hermione had taken up where he left off, but she liked to think she looked less suspicious doing it.

It was a relief to see that the view from the window was now clear of smoke and that she did not hear any further loud noises that would suggest a series of explosions, but it wasn't enough to completely allay her worries. Draco had been gone for so long… and she was only worried because she had to wait for his arrival to get her wand back. She felt decidedly uncomfortable without it, especially due to Luc's presence. Originally, Hermione had liked him but she was now unsure whether she had perhaps misjudged him. There was something slightly wrong about him; she couldn't quite put words to what it was, but he made her feel vaguely uncomfortable.

After Luc stopped his inspection of the room he had positioned a chair by the door and sat, stationed like a sentry, arms folded and with an alert expression on his face. Hermione felt edgy and uncomfortable cooped up in the room, but she had to admit that it was probably as safe a location as she could hope for. Even if her self-appointed bodyguard did give her the creeps.

Luc wouldn't allow anyone to enter the room; several servants had been sent away by Luc to run small errands that surely only served as a distraction, but neither did he allow her to leave. Hermione was miffed that the castle staff deferred so readily to him; her righteous indignation may have been felt on Draco's behalf and centered on the fact that Luc was essentially usurping Draco's position of authority, but most of that annoyance would surely be tied up in her resentment over Luc stealing her wand.

If only Draco would come back… she could reclaim her wand and Luc would have to stop playing this overblown authoritarian role… plus she would finally be able to silence that small part of her mind that was insisting she worry about Draco's safety. Hermione wiggled the large engagement ring on her finger, why was it that the thoughts she wanted to ignore were always the most persistent?

Hermione had her back to the door when it opened several long minutes later, but she knew almost instantly it had to be Draco. She didn't physically react to his presence; it wasn't that her heart sped up or that her skin came out in goosebumps, nor did the air in the room suddenly become charged with some sort of indefinable electricity. In fact there was nothing to signal his arrival other than the sound of the door opening. It was the silence that delivered the biggest clue, Luc hadn't ordered anyone to leave.

Turning in her chair, Hermione's eyes landed on Draco standing in the doorway and her face brightened, her lips stretched into a relieved smile. Their eyes held for a beat before she leapt up from her seat, and sped across the room. For a moment, Draco's eyes widened and his entire being appeared to relax. However, Hermione's attention was no longer on the man standing in the doorway, and Draco's demeanour changed when it became clear that she was not rushing to welcome him back, but rather towards Luc. Neither Hermione nor the other man noticed the telling physical signals of his initial, and ultimately premature, delight as Hermione had jumped up, nor the quick change that darkened his features. Hermione was much too intent on recovering her wand and Luc's attention was focused totally on the diminutive woman stalking across the carpet and scowling at him.

Hermione stopped close by Luc, who remained seated, and glowered down at him. Noticing Hermione's expression for the first time, Draco was half glad that her wrath was directed elsewhere for once; the rest of him was jealous that she was standing so close to another man.

She held out her hand expectantly, "Give it back now." It was an order.

Luc's face maintained its blankly pleasant expression as he stood from the chair and towered over Hermione, crowding her space. She had lifted her chin so as not to break eye contact, but otherwise neither person moved. Neither was willing to concede an inch of ground.

Finally, just as Draco's short store of patience was wearing thin, Luc broke into a grin. "But of course." And he passed the thin stick of wood into her outstretched hand.

She looked her wand over, felt its weight in her hand and swished it daintily through the air before pocketing it. She kept her hand over the pocket just to make sure. Hermione pointedly refused to thank him. He should apologise to her, if anything. However, just like every other Malfoy she had ever met, he didn't admit any fault. So as she turned to face Draco, she made sure to grind her heel into the toe of Luc's shoe. It may have been petty, but it made her feel infinitely better.

When they both focused their attention on Draco his face was once again a blank mask.

"What happened? Was there an explosion?" Hermione demanded.

He confirmed her fears with a slow nod of his head. "There was."

Watching the colour drain from her face Draco felt the need to clarify quickly.

"It was a case of a big bang, but not much boom," he shook his head. "That is to say, it wasn't anywhere near destructive as it was loud… no one was badly hurt."

Hermione still looked a little pale, but replied quietly, "That's fortunate."

He felt like an absolute monster for continuing and possibly worrying her further, but he couldn't leave it at that. Draco was certain that she would want further information soon, if not immediately. If nothing else, he might earn points by volunteering the information rather than making her work for it or find out later.

"No, it was calculated. This wasn't an accident, it was planned as a message. I'm obviously not moving quickly enough and not in the way these people want. It was a warning of their intent."

"How do you know?" It was a genuine question. She wasn't doubting his conclusion, but asking how he had arrived at it.

"It took place on a weekend so no one would be there, at the school on--"

She gasped, scandalised. Almost as if she hadn't heard of anything worse, hadn't lived through a war where essential infrastructure and innocent people were routinely destroyed. Of course, it was entirely possible she was scandalised. This after all was no war-time situation. In the heat of battle, morals are unclear, and both sides cross certain lines that would otherwise be inexcusable… Muggles had a term for it, the fog of war or something.

"A school?"

He paused, watching Hermione's face intently. Her voice was high and thin. Perhaps it reminded her too much of Hogwarts. Draco had found his own thoughts turning that way as he had surveyed the burnt out buildings and debris strewn grounds of the school. As soon as he had learnt what had happened and where, his mind had taunted him with memories of school children, their teacher and their enemies lying still and lifeless on the ground. It hadn't come to be this particular time, but who was to say the situation wouldn't escalate if he didn't act fast?

His eyes lifted over Hermione's head to glance at Luc. "I'm sure you can guess which one."

Luc remained silent, but with him still standing so close to her Hermione could almost feel his unease. Turning back, she could see the tension in his jaw.

Draco took something out of his pocket, "This was spelled to survive the blast. It sends the message pretty clearly." Shaking out the folded cloth, Draco held it out for them both to see. Emblazoned on the soot streaked material were dark letters spelling out: WE WILL NOT MIX

He walked across the room and almost collapsed into the chair Hermione had sprung up from upon his arrival, continuing flatly, "Our first experiment in mixed education. Over now. It wasn't popular to begin with and although some of the classrooms are still useable I have a feeling that after this the turn up will be so small that it won't matter that a vast majority now aren't."

"Mixed education? This is about girls and boys?!" Hermione asked incredulously.

He shook his head, "No. Mixed blood I suppose, but it's not the way I'd prefer to put it. Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggleborns all in the same classes. It hadn't been done before here, possibly won't be done ever again either."

Draco looked so forlorn, crushed even. His head was hung low and he just stared at his hands, fingers linked loosely, resting between his knees.

"Wait. Muggleb... b-but I thought this was an all wizarding province?"

"It is… or it was," his voice took on a bitter edge. "You will possibly remember the result of the old system, you did to go Hogwarts with me. Leaving here was the best thing that ever happened to me, although it took me a while to figure that out. Either way, it's ridiculous to shut yourself off from the world and pretend there's nothing different to what you know and have experienced. Or to think that those differences are necessarily evil. I wanted the eye opening experience I had for other people... so I changed things."

Luc piped in, "What Draco means to say is that he imports his Muggleborns."

Hermione glared at Luc, assuming that his comment has been a reference to her. He merely raised an eyebrow.

Draco snorted, "We do actually. How can you get Pureblooded wizards to respect Half-bloods and Muggleborns when they have never had contact with them? We opened up our school system to Muggleborn students across Europe, subsidised the tuition costs." He smile ruefully. "Until today, we had 16 Muggleborns. A small number all things considered, but it was a start."

"You should have seen him last time he visited the school and saw that youngster and his Muggleborn girlfriend." Luc walked up to Draco and clapped him on the shoulder. "It looked like this guy had a smile 10 foot wide."

Draco nodded. "It gave me hope. For so many things." He looked up from his hands and sent a small smile towards Hermione.

* * *

_A/N: Boring boring boring. Filler filler filler. Okay not actually, just not a lot of smaltzy romance. Which we will get to soon, but sorry there's also plot to consider_. _Plodding though it may be..._

_Once again sorry that these updates are far and few between - having horror time of things lately. Now there's less horror and more things, so there are still problems, just not so horrible. _

_I want to say big thanks to all readers and reviewers, sorry I have ignored you all so long. To everyone : Your time is greatly appreciated, whether it's just clicking forward to read or taking that little extra to put in a couple of words once you're done. The least I can do is give my thanks. __Yes, I'm officially back on the responding to reviews bandwagon. __Ta! _


	18. So Many Splendoured Things

_Draco nodded. "It gave me hope. For so many things." He looked up from his hands and sent a small smile towards Hermione._

* * *

For the period of time their eyes held each other's attention, neither person was aware of much else.

Draco desperately wanted Hermione to comprehend his meaning. He mentally willed her to understand, attempting to reinforce his words through a profoundly sincere expression. Hoping that would be enough because he couldn't lay himself bare with wordy explanations. His words had proven to be problematic; they never seemed to be able to express enough, or he put them wrong and she misunderstood his meaning; they always sounded empty despite the depth of his feelings.

Draco had been forced to learn the art of diplomacy quickly enough; the transition from the school boy who had felt his position in the scheme of things was assured to where he was now, a position in which he felt sure of almost nothing, had been sudden and brutal. He had hid this uncertainty behind the act of saying one thing and meaning another, carefully manipulating the wording of statements so that surrender might seem a success or the other way around. He knew which buttons to press, what to say, which tone to affect, when to be clear cut with threats and when to veil his words and their meaning with suggestion. It was a detached and cynical ploy. He found that now he could not state his position or his intentions directly. It had become natural to him, this artificial communication. It wasn't ideal but it did act as a protection, of sorts. He had been quick to learn from his few early mistakes and, until this point in time, had been fairly successful. Now it seemed his plans were failing him in both his private and public lives. It was quite possible that neither his words nor his actions to date would prove enough to keep his position, his country and…

Hermione was trying not to read anything into Draco's words or his expression. She told herself not to ascribe different meanings to them, just because they may have been the ones she wanted to hear. It was human nature to be selfish, to see one's self in all things. It was the reason she often heard 'harmony' and 'her money' and many other combinations of unrelated words as "Hermione"; the same reason her brain interpreted abstract pictures, dots and lines, as human faces it might also turn any innocent remark so that it made reference to her and contained layers of meaning. It was worse for anything that Draco said, for there was also a certain amount of wishful thinking involved. She would take his words at face value: 'hope' and 'things'. _Things _like his _hopes _for this country. Ones that had been so recently dealt a harsh blow. That was surely what he was referring to.

So he held her eye contact, wishing that she would understand him; to express what he couldn't admit verbally through his countenance. She met his gaze squarely, determined not to misunderstand his meaning or read too much into his earnest expression.

Neither person succeeded.

The loud clearing of a throat caught both their attention and they looked away at the same time in the direction of the sound. Luc had moved away from Draco's chair to stand in the room's doorway. There was no doubting that his intention had been to cut through the tight knot of concentration that held their eyes on each other. As soon as he was sure he had both pairs of eyes on him, he thumped his chest dramatically, cleared his throat once more and closed the door, grinning at the time.

Though neither would have known, a thought occurred to both almost simultaneously.

_Arse._

They remained staring at the door for a while; neither could bring themselves to make eye contact again. It was too raw, too intense.

Hermione walked towards the door and pulled the heavy chair Luc had positioned by the wall closer to the centre of the room. Facing Draco, she sat down heavily.

"You're really invested in this, aren't you?"

He was silent for a moment, "I was."

"Why give up now?"

"This isn't something new. Events… occurred to change the situation a long time ago."

"Are you saying you had already stopped caring? What about today, surely that showed you something?"

"I never stopped entirely, though I sometimes thought I had." He looked to the ceiling. "I haven't truly stopped caring even now, really…"

Hermione sat forward on her chair, reached across the space between them and took one of his hands in hers. Twining their fingers, she squeezed their joined fingers with her free hand before removing them both, "You can't stop, not ever."

It was like a spark caught him. He brightened immediately and his icy reserve thawed somewhat as he turned towards her. "It's important to you that I care? I thought –"

"Of course it's important. I've always wanted this." She smiled wistfully, but with genuine warmth. "I had my own plans for the future but there's no real reason they can't be altered to include you. The situation might be different and, yes, there are problems to go up against but it could still work. We could do so much together..."

Her words had begun to trail off, as if she were going over the plans in her head and talking herself through them. It took his voice to bring her back from inside her own head.

"And _how_ would 'together' work?"

"There's already a truce, we just have to stick to it."

"How would we do that?"

"We would _make_ it work."

"Would we?"

"We would."

"_How_ would we?"

"I'm not hexing you now, even though you insist on talking in annoying questions. That's the truce in action; _I'm_ making it work. _You_, on the other hand, are sorely testing my patience."

Draco laughed. His whole body felt light, as if an intangible weight that had been holding him down at this time was just removed.

"I am, am I?"

"You are a lot of things, but in the spirit of making things work I won't go into that. You can return the favour and stop baiting me."

He stopped. It was a pity because he was having fun, and his life had been missing fun recently. Her voice was still light, but the beginnings of a frown tensed the skin between her eyebrows. Just as Draco knew when to press buttons, he also knew when to stop. Or, at the very least, when to change tactics.

"Alright, I'm stopping. I'm - _We're _- making it work... Remind me how."

She groaned.

"I'm being serious," his smile suggested otherwise. "Big picture stuff. Working together implies more than just not killing each other at the end of the day, after all."

"The day is still young and you're pushing it."

"Understood," Draco's smile lengthened and widened into a grin. He was still having fun. "So what are we both bringing to the table?"

"Besides my lack of humour and your immaturity?"

"Of course."

Hermione shrugged. "You have power and position and all the resources that entails. I have the brains. The rest will sort itself out."

The frost returned just as quickly as it had melted.

Draco's lips narrowed from their wide smile to a thin line and his brow lowered in a frown. He stood, capturing her wrists between his hands and pulled her up and towards him, but not completely out of her chair. Hermione was surprised at his unexplained mood swing, especially given his teasing banter. Her last remark had been flippant but they hadn't exactly been overly serious beforehand.

Draco choked out a question, "What?"

"Isn't it obvious? You're royalty. People look up to you. You have the power and the money to do things. I've been planning something like this for a long time. I can be more or less at your disposal." She couldn't entirely suppress a small squeal of enthusiasm despite his outraged expression. It wouldn't be a simple solution, nor a quick one but Hermione was sure that between the two of them they had the capacity to right the situation.

"I've always imagined what it would be like to have those resources at my disposal; what I could do."

"I didn't want to believe… I thought you'd change… but –"

Hermione was beginning to worry about Draco. He wasn't making sense, and his voice sounded strange. Half-strangled, like something was lodged in his throat. She tried to push him down, to get him to sit back in his seat but his body remained rigid. He looked down at her - the oddest look on his face - as if his best plans and worst fears had crashed together, obliterating everything around him and he was left surveying the damage.

She was quick to reassure him, perhaps too quick as she heard her words run together when she spoke.

"I just meant that you're in a position to do so much. I'm sorry if you couldn't follow me. I tend to get ahead of myself when I get too worked up. You've started doing a great deal of good for such an essential cause. Fostering unity between all people, irrespective of their background, is imperative in the Magical community. You musn't give up now."

The tension left his body suddenly and Draco collapsed back into the chair opposite her. He stared straight ahead, his eyes not clearly focused on anything.

"Oh," was all he said. And Hermione convinced herself she had misinterpreted the tone of disappointment in the single syllable.

Draco leant forward to place his head in his hands, he grunted in reply. The reality, disappointing though it may have been, was still far better than the conclusion he had drawn. He had over reacted. He had started this conversation off with too much hope. It had been so difficult to reign himself in when she seemed to dashed his hopes so cruelly and confirm all his worst suspicions in the same breath. Worse even because he had almost convinced himself those doubts couldn't be true.

She spoke mostly to fill the silence but also because she was brimming with excitement.

"The people who attacked it represent the problem that your school was part way to solving. This issue is more important now that ever. They, whoever they are, want to stop you. What happened is awful, but you have to persevere through this." She shifted in her seat, and her tone became more conciliatory and less like she a lecture. "What I have come to realise is that big changes can start off small. When I was running S.P.E.W. I wasn't willing to negotiate small steps or accept good intentions if it didn't result in immediate action. I tried to force people to change, expected to convince them with my superior arguments but I didn't think to provide an example of how it could work, like you did. The school you had here was a marvellous idea; show people it's a good idea, convince them that it has some merit for the social good and their own circumstances, or at the very least get them used to the situation, make it normal."

His head still rested in his hands and impulsively she ran her fingers through his hair, "You, Draco Malfoy, are in the perfect position to change things. You've avoided the mistakes I made... already done so much. I want to help you, and I think I would be able to help."

Draco finally straightened up. He blinked rapidly and ran his hand over his face, scrubbing it over his chin. He smiled at her, but the luster had left his eyes and he appeared tired more than anything. Standing, he held out a hand to assist her up from her chair and she took it. Once she was upright he tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and let his hand rest there for a moment longer than necessary.

"We have a wedding in a matter of days. Help me get through that, Hermione, and _then _help me change the world."

Her hand twitched. Her breath caught. There was something in that statement that made Hermione want to take his face in her hands and kiss him. The suggestion that they could indeed change the world, the resignation in his tone, his admission that he needed her help, the hand still hovering as if unsure by her ear. She had seen how much the issue affected him, watched the complex play of emotions across his face. If she hadn't already convinced herself otherwise it would have been all too easy to imagine that she had been the source of his excitement and disappointment.

She wished that it had been her.

It almost pained her how much she wanted to kiss him, to cover that sad little half smile with her lips. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, press her body to his and kiss him softly and gently and somehow assure him through the play of lips and tongues that everything would work out. Given how he was so visibly affected by the mere mention of the school Hermione didn't imagine that even a lifetime's worth of kisses would reassure him. It didn't follow reasoning, but that didn't make her want it any less.

The fact that she felt any inclination to kiss him at all came as a surprise. Previously, whenever he had mentioned their upcoming marriage her only desire had been to cause him physical pain or run in the opposite direction. Possibly both. Wounding and running would be a completely reasonable reaction. He had been the one to break her heart in the first place, not accidentally but cruelly and calculatedly. He had figuratively tied her hands and was forcing her into a marriage that she did not want to be a part of. But now she wanted to _comfort_ rather than crucio him. It was probably the result of some deep seated psychological problem that she could get so worked up by issues of social equality.

Sure, he had saved some House Elves and there was the school, but was it enough for her to forgive all the less than honourable things he had done?

Even as she asked herself the question, Hermione had already partly realised the answer: She had forgiven him of everything once before. And despite everything that had happened since she was halfway to forgiving him again. Or, more accurately, she had wholly forgiven the principled half of him; the Draco who had freed House Elves and made a school for Muggleborns. The part of him that had broken her heart, the Draco who was cold and hard, _he_, she hated.

He was doing her head in.

Hermione squeezed his hand before she dropped her hold and turned to the door. "I have a dress fitting to arrange," she all but whispered.

Looking back as she left the room, she could see him backlit with the late afternoon sunlight coming through the window. It shone off his pale blonde hair to form a crown of light around his head. The light made him look radiant and otherwordly, his somber expression adding a poignancy to the picture she carried out of the room in her head. And in that moment, she had seen only Draco, the man she had forgiven.

* * *

The next day Hermione wasn't any closer to reconciling the part of Draco she admired with the part she hated. He had been called away on some official meeting of state business and she had not seen him after she left. That characterised their time recently, he was away more often than not and she was busy with something trivial concern about the wedding. She felt disoriented whenever they were together and no better when they were apart. Hermione had in fact given up and resigned herself to her confusion. There were more important things to consider, like…

"Oh oh oh. It's gorgeous."

…_sigh_, _wedding dresses_.

"Just lovely. You are looking glorious…"

Hermione agreed, to an extent. The dress was lovely, stunning, beautiful, magnificent, and every other overblown adjective that Chloe was gushing. Resplendent had made it in twice. She looked as she ever did; small, bright-eyed, fair-skinned, and far too much hair. Pretty, if one wished to push the point, but hardly gorgeous. Chloe was prone to overstatement. And far too excitable.

If she had ever stopped to think about weddings, this wouldn't have been what Hermione had envisaged. The dress, even without the final alterations, was simple, elegant and, for want of a better word, perfect. But a wedding was more than a groom and a dress. Hermione had those; she was, however, missing all the people she had assumed would be around her during this time, her family and friends (_oh, and consent, also consent_). Yes, there was someone to accompany her and provide cheery support and animated chatter, but there was the small matter that it was Chloe's job to help. She watched Chloe virtually dance around the room in pleasure as tucks were made and the bodice was pinned in tighter. While Hermione wasn't one to insist on separation of social classes, it would feel too much like buying her associates to call them friends, despite their being on friendly terms.

The seamstress had performed a spell that ensured she wouldn't stick Hermione with a pin, no matter how hard she jabbed it through the fabric, but the fitting still required Hermione to stand still for long stretches of time. As the seamstress communicated only in commands to 'stand up straighter' or 'raise your right arm' and impatient fussing noises, Hermione had only her reflection and Chloe's antics for entertainment. And only Chloe was really able to distract her from her maudlin thoughts.

"…Oh. This wedding will be so grand. It will be something to take everyone's attention off of…" Chloe paused and her voice dropped nervously, "that awful event." She had stopped her half dancing and began to fidget uncertainly.

"Miss Granger… this is, Hermione… I, ah, I wanted to say you, I mean, ask you…"

"Chloe, what is it?" Hermione asked tiredly, resigned to answer a spate of questions about wedding nights.

Chloe glanced over at the seamstress and giggled awkwardly. "Never mind. I just… I can ask you my question later." She stood uneasily for a few moments before turning to sit in silence in the corner. Which, knowing Chloe's propensity for chatter and her seeming inability to be embarrassed, was disturbing in itself.

Hermione shrugged and was scolded with a soft slap on the arm from the seamstress. Sighing, she stood up straight and lifted her left arm; it was just her and her reflection now.

The seamstress had ultimately run out of pins and had been forced to transfigure spare beads and buttons. She was circling Hermione now, looking her up and down, tapping her bottom lip with a calloused finger. Looking down at the dress, even knowing how many pins the woman had used, Hermione couldn't spot a single one. She thought it possible that they had been charmed to visibly blend into the fabric, but she hadn't heard any spells. It was either a case of wandless non-verbal spells, which was impressive, or a very talented seamstress. Given that Hermione had let the witch push, prod and pose her without complaint, she hoped that it was the first. It was less damaging to her ego to believe the woman was a very skilled spell caster.

Eventually the seamstress was satisfied with the fit of the dress. She knew this only because the fussy witch stood back and regarded her with a small smile and a nod. Hermione relaxed upon seeing the satisfied expression on the woman's face.

The witch waved her wand and chanted, "Finite Incantatum."

Hermione immediately felt the prick of a sharp pin in her side.

"Ow!"

"Stand up straight." With that parting shot, the woman turned and left the room.

Chloe left her chair and came over to Hermione who was carefully rubbing her side through the material. She didn't want to create a snag or move a pin and risk the older witch's wrath.

Chloe gave her a small smile, "she will return later to collect the dress and make the final adjustments. You can change your clothes through that door."

"Chloe, about –"

The younger witch shook her head vigorously. "I am sorry about earlier. It was nothing, really…" she looked uncomfortable again but summoned a new burst of energy quickly.

"Do you want me to assist you out of your dress? It's so pretty it is a shame to just wear it once. If I had one I don't think I would ever want to take it off. Of course, I am just joking to say it, because I do not have a fiancée so I do not have a wedding. Yet. Maybe when I am older," Chloe's eyes widened in horror and her hand shot up to cover her mouth, as if to force the words back in. "Oh! But I didn't… I meant… if I do, one day in the future… And I am sure that any dress of mine would never be as fine as–"

Hermione held up a hand to stop the apologetic babbling, "I didn't hear anything I was offended by."

"I am so very, very sorry." Chloe backed away while she apologised, her words muffled somewhat by the hand still covering her lips.

"It's fine! I wasn't–" Hermione yelled after the girl as she scurried out, closing the door far too loudly in her haste. Chloe would probably berate herself soundly for the near slam as well. She was almost as disciplined as a House Elf in that way, but at least she didn't feel inclined towards physically self punishment. That said, if it wasn't considered a slightly extreme measure of loyalty Chloe just may have started banging her head against the wall to show Hermione that she was really truly very sorry. All in all, it was probably best she had settled on just retreating out of the room.

Hermione sighed. She couldn't run after the excitable maid in this dress, yet she wasn't willing to magic it off and risk the ire of the possibly powerful and certainly vindictive seamstress. She would just have to find Chloe once she was changed and explain that nothing the girl had said had been taken as an insult and neither had Chloe overstepped any boundaries of station.

Instead, she found herself alone in the smaller adjoining room struggling with the series of minute lace covered buttons along the back of the dress and cursing Chloe's ill-timed exit. Then she cursed the seamstress too, for good measure. She cursed Draco, for being the reason she was in this dress at all; Narcissa, because she should have had at least one other woman she could turn to and the older witch had made it impossible; Luc, because Hermione just didn't like him very much at the moment; and finally herself, for being so pathetic and not figuring out a way to get out of either the dress or the wedding. Then she cursed herself again, because she had unconsciously given her consent to it just so she could stick around and help out with a couple of causes. She cursed Draco once more because he was wonderful and awful at the same time and that confused her; because she wanted him and hated him and hated that she wanted him; because she was tired, wasn't acting like she normally would, felt unstable and…

Her arms ached. They continued to hurt after she lowered them from trying to unfasten the awkward clasps and rotated her shoulders to try to disperse the soreness. It was useless, she hadn't even come close to undoing half of them.

Hermione collapsed down onto the padded seat, feeling like she was about to start crying out of frustration. She felt like she had lost something important, but wasn't quite sure what it was. A rogue pin jabbed painfully into her breast and it was just too much. Everything. Nothing. She felt slightly hysterical. She felt empty, like there had been a bubble of air trapped in her chest that the pin had burst. She was beyond thinking. Her body shook with silent sobs, her eyes remained dry. She sat there, not quite crying, but giving the exact appearance of it.

And then, as quickly as the phantom tears had started, it was over. She sat up straight; she was fine, her head was clear. Her chest no longer ached, although her arms still did.

She could hear footsteps and voices that clearly did not belong to women or to servants who had been trained to tread quietly. Not Chloe returned to help then, nor the seamstress. The footsteps entered the room behind the dressing room she now occupied. A door slammed shut.

"I'll thank you not to try to tell me how to run this place or fix its problems. You don't know everything, though you seem to think you do. The issue is more complicated than you understand it."

Draco, if she could correctly place his voice with a thick wall between them. There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his voice had lost much of the anger it had originally had.

"It puts me in a rather delicate situation. The school itself was administered by the state, so this is now a government matter. Any vandalism of state property would automatically be a government matter, but this more so because it is especially malicious…"

Hermione was having trouble making out the words. She rose from her seat to get closer to the wall that blocked her from the speakers. The rustle of material from her underskirt and long dress blocked out a second person's speech. When she pressed her ear against the wall and could hear Draco was speaking once again.

"…is almost an attack on me. Symbolically at least, because I was very publicly recognised as being behind the project. We're treading on dangerous ground here. If we suspect right…" Hermione lost a portion of his speech as he and the other person moved deeper into the room, away from the wall.

"…also involved in the government, which has always been in agreement with, or at least tolerant of, my position. This seems to have changed. It could never work. Theoretically I have power of executive, but in reality I need that support. I'm not sure if it's one or two individuals or the whole lot, what I am sure of is that I can't afford to have a government that sits in opposition to me."

The other person spoke, but she couldn't make out more than a low mumble through the thick stone and plaster. When Draco spoke this time, it was much louder and clearer than before. She realised that he must have come to lean on the same wall she stood against.

"I'll say again that you don't understand. The people will expect action because it was their children. I _have_ to take action because I can't have members of the government thinking they can dictate to me, especially not using these tactics. The people have already started to oppose the government, what if they start to oppose me as well?"

Mumbles again.

"I don't want the protests to get violent and I fear that's exactly what will happen if there isn't a solution found shortly," Draco's voice started to recede, suggesting he had moved away from the wall. She could hear the footsteps moving away but managed to make out one last snippet of conversation.

"No, I don't like it either, but plans change. We'll have to bring it forward."

* * *

_A/N: __OHHHHHH! I am torturing you, aren't I? This is much longer than the last chapter, still not a huge one but it's up pretty quick for me, so no complaining. Thanks to all the lovely reviewers, (and to _diagonally _for her stellar late night effort/moral support)_. _I'm now over the 200 mark, which is cool and even though I was sitting on 190-something before then, I still wasn't quite expecting it._ _And yes, I even appreciate you silent readers._

_To business: Those people who are have been begging for Draco and Hermione action (um, all of you), I can stop making empty promises and reveal that yes, it does happen, but no, I won't tell you in what form. Flashback? Smut? More hand holding? __Gratuitous eye contact? __Sorry to have kept you all waiting but if I added it in early it would sit badly with the rest of story. But the countdown is now on, and it's a short 'un._

_Now t__o those who have been begging for, or demanding, Narcissa's comeuppance (_HarryPGinnyW4eva_ is especially adamant) I will have to leave you waiting a bit longer. I have, mostly out of guilt at stringing you all along, written a short little apology in passive aggressive fiction form. It's called _Cissa's Web_ and should be up on my author's page if you're that way inclined. If not, I'll see you next chapter. _

_Hopefully more to come soon… and less end note drivel from me. Cheers! _


	19. Out for the Count

_...It's been a while. Don't think I've been buying up the rights to Harry Potter during my absence. I still own none of this. _

_New chapter. Believe me when I say that I _wanted_ to get this up earlier than I have. I lay it on pre-e-e-e-etty thick in this chapter. It's all very introspective and claustrophobic. I'm not sure if that's where I wanted the chapter to go (to state it plainly, it wasn't) but that's what I've got at the moment. I actually quite like parts of this, as much as they were a surprise and completely different from the original outline/drafts. This hasn't been compulsively checked over and over as per usual, but you've all waited long enough. No, __too__ long. And for that I apologise. Ignore any mistakes._

* * *

Although the other voice made muffled attempts to continue the conversation, Draco clearly believed the matter to be finished. Hermione listened to the other person's long speech, holding her breath so she wouldn't miss anything, but she was able to glean no more than a few unimportant words that did nothing to further her understanding. Only Draco's "Yes", "No", "Of course" and final "I don't believe that's any of your business" made it through the thick stone.

She remained frozen in place, breathing in with shallow, almost silent breaths, as the two pairs of footsteps departed the room, the door closing softly this time. When Hermione finally did move, it was no more than a small shift in position, moving her ear from the wall to press her forehead to the cool stone. She stood like that, leaning into the wall, attempting to sort through the snatches of the conversation she had overheard. It wasn't much use. Important parts were missing and she hadn't heard enough to put the pieces together so it resembled anything close to a full picture.

For a moment, she wished heartily that she had thought to bring a pair of Extendable Ears. But her lack of foresight was excusable, she had not expected to be doing any spying during her fitting. The magicked Ears wouldn't be much use against a stone wall either, and Hermione couldn't move easily wearing a wedding dress, creep around silently or crouch unnoticed behind a door. It was just another frustration to add to the list, frustration at the unknowns that kept her up at night… and she was already so _so_ tired.

Even exhausted, her mind still leapt to make connections and explanations… Extendable Ears and spying at keyholes would have been useless against a wizard who spelled rooms against eavesdroppers. The little she had been able to make out through the wall was far more than she would have heard had either person thought to use _Muffliato_. That she had heard anything at all was proof positive that no spell had been cast, which meant that the conversation couldn't have been all that important.

_Important, perhaps_, Hermione amended mentally, _but certainly not confidential_. _Unless Draco had __completely__ forgotten the valuable lessons the war had taught them…_

Important or not, what she had been able to make out just wasn't enough to satisfy Hermione's curiosity. It had been enough to hint at additional problems, but not to actually confirm any of her suspicions.

She already knew the country was under pressure from all sides, and it was obvious that this could only increase after recent events. Political violence was like that, it rarely solved problems but often brought new ones to bear. However, the possibility of a problem between the Prince and the government had been news to her; Draco had previously seemed so commanding and in control. But again, the little she had heard was not enough to draw conclusions from.

A thought occurred to her that, if the Prince were to be impeached, the wedding would almost certainly be cancelled; he would have no need for a royal bride. But she dismissed the realisation at once as unconstructive.

Rather than analyse her ambivalent response to the matter, Hermione was focused on the unexplained "plans" that had ended the dialogue. Unluckily, that just happened to be the hardest part of the conversation to puzzle out.

_What plans? _

If the plans were being moved forward rather than being implemented or new plans being put into place, it would seem that both Draco and the other man (_the voice had __**sounded**__ male_) agreed that the course of action, whatever it may be, was inevitable. However, Draco had sounded unsettled. Despite not having heard more than a few words, she decided that the other man had been trying to argue against them. Inevitable they may be but, whatever the plans were, neither man favoured them.

But extrapolating would only get her so far, and political intrigue and machinations, especially those still unfolding, were some of the (admittedly few) subjects that couldn't be understood or explained in a book. It was harder still because she only knew half the story. Draco seemed reluctant to tell her anything, which was the thing that most annoyed Hermione. When she had offered her help, he had had her assist him sorting out small issues to do with the wedding, rather than the problems of state that she believed to be the most important concern.

So Hermione was torn. Draco had made it clear that he expected her to concentrate on their upcoming nuptials, rather than involve herself with any state business. She, on the other hand, desperately wanted something to distract her so she wouldn't have to spend all her time and exhaust her mental energies on weddings; it was too demoralising. She wanted to be involved in something bigger, be involved in something constructive where she could be of use. But she didn't want to be stuck in the middle of a battles over ideology again.

Hermione was a campaigner and a reformer more than a soldier, and she had already waged too much war during the fight against Voldemort. She'd been so happy to leave all that behind when the battles had ended, but within a few short years she found herself surrounded by another burgeoning conflict. When there had been the explosion, her first thought had been to help out, throw herself into the thick of things and find out who was involved and how she could stop it, because that was her conditioned response. She had been doing it for so long that it felt natural. That was what Harry would do. But she didn't _want_ that. She wanted answers to puzzles. She wanted the solution that couldn't be found; the one that would eliminate all the problems, the ones that would let her go home.

It was too messy a situation for an easy answer. And she was powerless to do anything to solve anyone's problems, let alone her own…

She should have hated him for that; for forcing her to marry him. For doing this after he had so cruelly rejected her in the past. For being the root cause of most of the problems in her life.

She _did_ hate him… sometimes. And at other times – when she thought about House Elves, Schools and social change – it occurred to her that he was reforming his country, so perhaps this meant that he was, in turn, reformed. In those moments she could forget everything that happened in the past and that was happening now. Sometimes, she forgot to the point that they were almost friendly with each other… occasionally, she forgot to the point that she wished it was more than friendly. Then a voice in the back of her mind would intrude and remind her with a whisper, 'This man has trapped me. I hate this man'.

She just wished that the little voice was a constant roar so that there were never moments when she forgot, or that it would leave her completely alone to forget… because she felt torn, yes, but it was more than that.

She was breaking, she could feel it.

_I have to spend less time alone in my own head. It's too crowded in here with just my thoughts for company. _

_...Or just less time alone... _

Hermione had never dealt well with being alone. It was all too easy for her to ignore people and retreat into books, theories and whatever work she had to occupy herself but, at the end of the day, she craved human company. All alone, she was inclined to be overly anxious, withdrawn and reclusive. She needed people to cheer her up and with whom to talk her worries through. "People" used to mean Harry, Ron and Ginny. Now she just wanted people, person, someone, anyone.

She had more fears and doubts now than any time since the end of the war; she had been forced into an impossible situation, she was stuck in the middle of a situation that looked to be escalating into another war, and she had absolutely no one to share this with.

She did have _someone_; she had Draco, whom she hated but not always. Which all went to show just how exceedingly lonely she really felt.

She wanted _out_.

She wasn't powerless, after all. In any blackmail she had the choice to pay the ransom or suffer the consequences. Hermione refused to pay any more, if the price was her own sanity.

"Sorry, Ron."

He would survive. Ron was resilient; if he had proved anything over the course of their friendship it was that he had could come back. He learnt from his mistakes if they packed a big enough punch. This would be a harder lesson than most, but he would come out the other end. He would struggle when Draco chose – '_if he chose_', corrected the small part that still saw him as reformed – to release the incriminating information, but he would survive. Ron was surrounded by people who would help him; he had the love and support of the entire Weasley family, he had Harry and he had his wife.

She would be ruined just as surely as Ron would if she left. She would be ruined, but she would at least have her friends and family around her. As long as she remained, they were both safe, but she was alone.

As long as she remained with Draco, she was isolated. Completely alone, and she had never dealt well with being alone. She was fighting _herself_, ripping herself in half and wearing those halves to shreds.

No longer.

Her wand held tightly in one hand, the heavy skirts of her dress clutched up off the ground in the other, back held rigidly straight and head high, Hermione strode determinedly out into the hall.

No one. No Chloe, Draco, Luc, no nameless servants. It was empty. She was alone.

Fitting.

She did not head to her rooms to pack. Didn't compose a note to explain her absence. She didn't rehearse a speech in case she ran into anyone. She didn't even bid a mental farewell. Mind blessedly clear for the first time in a long time, Hermione walked confidently _out_. Making her way along hallways, down staircases and through entire suites of rooms, she didn't see a single soul.

She didn't think to question how she made it all the way down to the central courtyard without meeting someone, anyone, in the usually bustling palace. She was too caught up in the steady rhythm of one foot in front of the other. In this moment, it seemed to her the most important, triumphant detail. She became entirely consumed by the simple action, walking, that she typically performed unthinkingly.

Hermione wasn't running away, no she was _walking_ away. There was a huge difference.

Everything else faded away. She was fixated: each step, just under a metre closer to getting out, to leaving all the stress, worries and paralysing emotions behind.

The eventual cessation in the rhythm of her footfalls was displeasing to her ears.

Her feet had stopped before she was even fully aware of an obstruction. The gate, solid wood, set into thick stone with strong iron supports and as tall as she was three times over, was firmly shut… locked by key and reinforced by magic.

Hermione felt a dull sense of dismay. She could go no further, but she refused to go back. She did not turn around, just stood staring at the giant doors that were closed so firmly there was not even a gap to let sunlight or wind through. What chance did she have?

She might have collapsed on to the ground in dejection if it didn't seem so important for her to stand straight and tall and certain of her decision. She might have stayed standing, facing the gate like some tragic heroine from a forgotten legend, for a whole day and a night had she not been interrupted by a scornful voice.

"You're wearing that as everyday attire now to – what – mock me?"

"I think you'd be surprised how very little you figure into my decision making process."

Hermione spoke her words to the wall rather than the woman. She couldn't bear to look at her just then, and her tone conveyed her feelings clearly enough. Her back a straight line, shoulders held taut, her neck a slender curve to the tight knot of hair a twist on her head. A bitter expression frozen on her face, her gaze concentrated on one iron peg on the door as if it was anchoring her to the world.

"I don't know what possessed you to wear white. We both know it's a blatant lie."

"I'm sure you of all people appreciate symbolism, Narcissa. Will you be wearing your family's traditional black cloak and mask? Perhaps you'll celebrate by conjuring skulls with snake tongues?"

"You haven't won yet, Mu–"

It was too dangerous to continue to stand with her back turned to this woman. Narcissa prefered to face her opponent head to head, not out of a sense of fairness, but to see their reactions – she was both a Malfoy and a Black, after all – but she did not have endless patience. Her last comment had sounded very much like a threat.

Hermione turned, looked directly at the older woman, her face a picture of a perfect storm.

"Don't say it."

If it had been a competition over who could best encapsulate chilling malice then, in that moment, Hermione would have won. Her voice so glacial she was half surprised her tongue hadn't turned to ice in her mouth, that her breath hadn't coated the wood of the gate with icicles. In the soft, sparkling magnificence of the dress made for a wedding that would not be, Hermione more resembled an ice queen than frigidly fair Narcissa ever had.

As it was, she did not inform Narcissa that she had already conceded in the competition for Draco – in fact, she had never really been a contender, just convenient. She didn't want Narcissa to think that she had played any role in Hermione's decision to leave, it would grant the older woman a victory she did not rightly deserve.

Narcissa's eyebrows sank into an outraged frown, lowering over eyes that glinted with displeasure, "What was I not supposed to say, Mudblood?"

"Get away from me."

"_You_ do not order _me_ around." The older woman glided forward menacingly, "understand this: I am your better. It is the difference between **who** I amand**what** you are. No education, no war, no marriage – _nothing –_ will change that. If, _if_, you marry my son it will be the greatest tragedy for him, but it will not change who he is. And you will remain as you have always been: filthy, lowborn and base."

The words had left Hermione's mouth before she thought them and she felt her wand slicing through the air rather than consciously guiding its movement herself. The bright light of a spell erupted from her wand.

It was almost like a form of the Imperius curse; she did not feel in control of herself, could not stop her mouth from forming the words of the spell nor the hand from pointing her wand. The difference was, there was no foreign voice from outside her mind, yet somehow inside her head, telling her what to do. Some part of her that she had not been aware of must have been in control.

In the moments immediately after the spell was cast, Hermione stood bent double at the waist, sucking in great gasping breathes of air and blinking her eyes back into focus. Trying to recall just what had happened.

The mixture of adrenaline and anger had a bad effect on her.

Her vision cleared before her brain did.

Narcissa lay motionless on the ground.

_No._

She stumbled backwards with uncertain steps until she felt her back connect solidly with the door. Sliding down the wood polished smooth with age, Hermione sobbed into her tightly balled fist.

"No… I – Shit. Shit! Shit… Oh, no. I – Please, no."

She gagged, what if she had…? No. She didn't want that. She never wanted to feel that again. Had never wanted to take a life in the first place... War – she had done so many things she didn't want to in the war… but this wasn't the heat of battle, she wouldn't have... she wasn't… didn't mean…

_Oh please no._

Swallowing the sick feeling that crept into her stomach, Hermione quickly scrambled across the short distance to the motionless body. She said nothing. She didn't apologise; didn't beg the woman to breathe; didn't reassure her everything was going to be all right. Narcissa wouldn't be able to hear.

Hermione raised the heavy head slightly, rested it on her lap. The first time she had touched Narcissa, it was to cradle the woman's head in her hands because she had just blasted her with an unknown spell. She didn't even know if the woman was dead or alive.

The body was warm but so little time had passed that it would mean nothing.

She didn't speak, just sat there and watched – and eventually saw the slightest movement. The rise and fall so shallow as to be almost imperceptible. She was breathing.

Hermione hadn't used the Killing Curse.

"Thank you. Oh, thank you. Thank you."

She didn't know who she was thanking: Narcissa for being stronger than she looked; strong enough to withstand the physical effects of a serious curse shot directly at her. Herself; for holding back just enough and not using a curse that would have killed the woman stone-dead. God or Merlin or any other spiritual presence. Perhaps no one. Perhaps she just needed to say something, anything, to express her relief.

Relief more that she had not killed, than that Narcissa lived. Hermione felt only slight guilt at that, but she didn't think the older woman would begrudge her. It was unlikely Narcissa would have felt anything if their positions had been reversed.

Hermione looked at the face of the woman whose head rested in her palms. She looked older, fevered anger had lent her energy and fervour that was disguised as youth. All malice and harshness had now disappeared from the face, as quickly and completely as removing a mask. She looked older, but softer and more beautiful, Hermione thought, like a different person.

She raised her wand in air, waved it to emit bright red sparks high above her.

"She deserved it," Staring down at the insensible witch, so delicate and gentle-looking now, Hermione shakily rationalised her actions, if only to herself. "Maybe not to this extent, but… she insisted on making this into a battle."

She readjusted Narcissa's head in her lap before swapping the hand that held her wand aloft.

"I was leaving. She'll figure that she won in the end. I don't care. There wasn't even a reason to fight just now. And I nearly – I could have… I never really fought _for him_. I just fought _her_... because she was an adversary, because she provoked me – because I had to do something."

Narcissa's breaths were coming stronger and deeper, the rise and fall of her chest clearly observable on each inhalation and exhalation. Hermione patted down the woman's cloak, removing a wand from amongst the folds of cloth.

"Just in case."

* * *

She appeared to be all alone. From a distance, the skirts of her voluminous white dress hid the body lying against her. When Draco and Luc came running, that was the scene that first met them; Hermione sitting with back bent and her head hanging down, wand arm held straight in the air, near the closed gateway at the end of the courtyard. Narcissa's prone body became noticeable only as they hurried over, the woman's head resting cushioned by soft white silk on the younger witch's knees.

Hermione didn't move, not at the sound of hurried footsteps, not when Draco dropped into a crouch beside his mother, not until he turned to her and clasped her bare shoulder in a firm grip. So intent had she been on watching the woman's closed eyelids, waiting for them to open and the screwed up, hateful expression to return to the now placid features, that Hermione was startled by his sudden appearance. By grey eyes, not the bright blue she had been expecting, that stared searchingly into hers, completely devoid of malice.

She glanced down, his mother's eyes were still closed, before looking up to his concerned countenance.

"I didn't mean–"

"Never mind. Just tell me what happened here. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know."

"You found her?" the question was tinged with uncertainty, his expression hopeful.

"No. I did this, only..." her voice wobbled, "I don't know what it is I did. I cast the spell, I don't recall what spell. I wasn't thinking – I just wanted her to go away."

He looked back to his mother. Grabbed her hand from where it lay, pale and relaxed against the dark cobblestones of the courtyard, and held it tightly.

"Mum?"

None of them moved, the only sound coming from four bodies taking in air and breathing it out. There was nothing to signal a response from the unconscious witch.

"How long ago?" He didn't look at her, but it was clear who the question was directed to. His tone was clipped, but not severe.

"Not much time. She's gotten stronger since then."

Draco nodded. "Alright. I need to take my mother back. Luc, bring Hermione with you. Carry her if she can't walk, just get her inside."

He lifted his mother up with a wave of his wand and a terse _Levicorpus_ and, despite the speed at which he travelled, levitated her carefully to the castle.

Hermione looked behind her, to the man she hadn't even realised was there, "I can walk."

Luc offered her his hand, which she ignored. "What _really_ happened?"

She glared at him as she rose unsteadily to her feet, "Just what I said."

"Right. If that's all you have to say," He gestured for her to proceed him, "we'll be on our way."

She did not like Luc; She trusted him even less than Draco. Even so, when they were walking back, he a solid presence behind her, she stopped and turned. She hadn't wanted to travel one step back towards the palace, and she had already taken many more than that.

"I need to leave. I need to get away from here."

He looked down at her, his jaw tense and locked. It was a confession, not a demand or a request for help. Hermione stared up at him with huge brown eyes, every other time he'd been in her company there had been an indefinable sense of strength about her. Not now. Now, she just looked broken.

Luc nodded, "Yes... But I can't allow that."

He looked away from the small, white-clad woman. Strong hands turned her back to face the castle and pushed her on her way.

"For everything to work, you need to stay."

* * *

_Not bad for five months work. Yes, that was sarcasm. _

_Thanks to everyone who keeps on reading and reviewing after all this time. And also to _mischievous female_, _Eccthlacine_ and _Regin_ amongst others, whose reviews reminded me that people are still finding this and enjoying it. See, reviews do make a small, but concrete difference in the world! _


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